


Riptide

by Capzi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Castiel, First Time, Happy Ending, Lifeguard Dean, M/M, Mechanic Dean, Student Sam, Surfer Cas, Top Dean, Virgin Castiel, mentions of child abuse, shameless references to pop music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-12
Updated: 2014-11-12
Packaged: 2018-02-25 03:50:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 53,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2607410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Capzi/pseuds/Capzi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's life is just fine, thankyouverymuch. Okay, sure, so sleeping at night is hell and his brother Sam's barely even around anymore and his lifeguard gig has turned into more of a painful obligation than anything else, but it's nothing he can't handle. What he really CAN'T deal with is the dorky guy with the douchey clothes, ugly Jeep, and bad taste in music who keeps popping up. And who may also be a freakin' surf god. And suddenly things seem a lot less fine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Riptide

**Author's Note:**

> First, ten thousand thanks and hearteyes to my friend Kat for her knowledge of cars and how the hell they work.
> 
> Title and inspiration taken from "Riptide" by Vance Joy.
> 
> "Running down to the riptide, taken away to the dark side,  
> I wanna be your left hand man.  
> I love you, when you're singing that song and I've got a lump in my throat  
> 'cus you've gone and sang the words wrong"
> 
>  
> 
> **Author's Note 11/12/15 **  
> **  
> **  
>   
>   
> Today, one year after this wonderful, outrageous behemoth made its way online, I have something else to add, something very important to say, and that is  
>   
>  _Thank you. ___  
>   
> Thank you, every single one of you, who has read and kudos-ed and bookmarked and commented on my beloved Riptide. I can't thank you enough, for affirming all my hard work on this, the longest single piece of writing I've completed, and one of my very favorites. I think people outside our community, people who don't fall so deeply in love with characters and plots and fictional places, have a tendency to disregard fan fiction as meaningless fluff, and I am so happy to have found a community that knows better. Every comment, every word of love, brings me true, tangible joy, and reminds me that I want to be able to do the same for others for the rest of my life. (And to every one of you who've read it in one go: YOU DA REAL MVPs, I'm pretty sure *I've* still never done that!)  
>   
>  As a small token of my appreciation, I offer you this playlist, of all the songs I had in mind while creating this story (and a cheeky nod to Dean's spy movie, for good measure). I hope you enjoy it, and if this is your first time reading Riptide, I wish you happy reading, and thank you also, for allowing me to indulge in this little virtual love-fest.  
>   
> [Riptide - The Soundtrack](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLGARAMQGuS0S9s39WdyTk1AKTol053xoh)

     

* * *

 

     There was a homey clanging around from downstairs, drawers and the fridge opening and closing as Sam threw together breakfast. Birds outside. The far away purr of early morning traffic for the nine-to-five crowd.

Dean sighed deeply and plunged his head further into the pillow cradled between his arms, gratitude becoming the first coherent thought of the day.

     No nightmares. No screaming. No terror dragging him from sleep in the wee hours of the night, his lungs gasping with the memory of so much water, of certain death. No secondhand horror for Sam either, drawn to his side and too shaken to go back to bed, exhausted for the long day ahead.

Today, it was possible to forget.

     Dean rolled over to his back and slowly sat up, arms stretching above his head, muscles creaking. He paused for a minute, appreciating the cool of the morning, then carefully slid over to the side of the bed and pushed himself up, the liquid underneath surging back and forth in response to the motion.

   Sam likes reminding him that no one under thirty should even know they still _make_ waterbeds, but Dean usually shuts him up with a cocky comment about how twenty-something chicks are pretty eager to check it out. They are too, up until they realize it’s really like making love on a rodeo bull and the fun typically moves to the floor. Not that he’s had anyone up here in a while. Night terrors, as it turns out, are a major mood killer.

Dean ambled down the stairs and found his brother shoving his laptop into an already stuffed backpack.

      “Mornin,’” he called and rooted around the cupboard for a clean mug.

      “Hey,” Sam answered, finishing the task and swigging down the last bit of coffee from his own cup.

      “Dude, did you even sleep last night? I packed it in at, like, three and you were still going hard at sea slugs or whatever.”

      “Worms, Dean,” Sam rolled his eyes as if the difference actually mattered. “And don’t worry, I got my four hours in, same as you most nights.”

      “Worms, slugs, rocks, whatever man. Why couldn’t you study something cool, like sharks?” Dean leaned against the counter and sipped his coffee, enjoying the teasing.

      “Not doing this with you again, you know I care more about finding out stuff about things we don’t understand as well. Also, less chance of getting bit.” Sam slung his bag on his back and yanked on his sandals. “Besides, I’m running late.”

        “Kay. Might drop by later,” Dean yawned.

        “See you later, then.”

       Dean popped some bread in the toaster and listened for the sound of Sam’s bike clicking down the driveway and out onto the main road. He looked around. Textbooks were stacked everywhere, on the coffee table, on top of the TV, on the kitchen counter and table, even on the stairs. The windows needed washing and there were two days’ worth of dirty dishes piled in the sink. And then there was the sand. Dean rolled the ball of his foot on the linoleum and groaned, feeling the grit that managed to work its way into every part of the small house. He supposed there must have been a short time, back when their mother was alive, when the place might have actually looked decent, but over the years, it always fell to Dean to keep things clean and though he tried, it was still glaringly obvious that this was the home of two bachelors.

            He munched his toast and tidied up the tables one-handed, gathering pens and highlighters in a faded plastic cup that read _Roadhouse Diner_. He straightened the cushions on the old brown couch, finding Sam’s laptop charger and cementing his decision to drop by Sam’s work. He stacked plates and forks in the dishwasher and finally, retrieved the vacuum cleaner from the hall closet, mentally resolving to never get so far behind again. The sand was so thick in all the carpets that by the time he finished, it was already eleven thirty.

            Annoyed with his entire family for ever deciding to live near the beach in the first place, Dean hopped in the shower, quickly washed and dried off (also resolving to keep up with the laundry after finding only one scratchy old beach towel in the back of the closet), and dressed in his red trunks and white tank, which managed somehow to be miraculously clean. Collecting the charger in his bag, he grabbed his sunglasses and sped off on his own bike to the smoothie shop. The midday sun beat hot on the back of his neck and shoulders during the three-mile ride and he was glad to coast to a stop over the weathered planks of the boardwalk and walk into the icy air-conditioning of the shop.

            “Dean!” Sam’s boss Gabriel greeted him from behind the counter, hefting an armful of produce. “Moose is chopping in the back. Now what fine beverage would it be my pleasure to comp you today?”

            “C’mon Gabe, you’re not supposed to know about that, cut the guy a break for tossing his brother one on the house every now and then.” Dean flashed his best shit-eating grin. “Strawberry-chocolate, extra protein? You know, I save lives. Gotta keep my strength up.”

            “Of course you do,” Gabriel murmured sweetly, but he reached for an empty blender and began tossing in handfuls of ice and powder.

            “You’re a good guy, Gabe,” Dean sang and leaned back against the counter to take in the rest of the store. Nothing unusual for the off-season: a few middle-aged women gossiping, two dirty-haired teens laughing at a video on the girl’s phone, a college chick surrounded by note cards, and a dorky looking guy waiting at the end of the counter.

            “You’re telling’ _me?”_

Dean let out a huff of laughter as the shop owner slapped the back of his head and proceeded to pour a vivid pink concoction into a tall plastic cup. He topped the monstrosity with a pile of whipped cream and called, “Cas!”

The dorky guy came forward and claimed the drink.

          “Thanks.” His voice was rich and deep and in Dean’s opinion, totally inappropriately suited for someone wearing neon orange shorts and a tank with patterns of dancing hot dogs and burgers. Equal parts douchey and dorky, really.

Dean watched him walk out and climb into a door-less baby blue Jeep he hadn’t noticed parked on his way in. Now that he did, Dean couldn’t imagine how he could have ignored the gorgeous Channel Islands surfboard strapped to the top of the tacky thing. He turned to Gabriel to muse on whether the dude could even stand up on a board when suddenly the Jeep cruised away from the curb blaring _Brittney Spears_ of all things in the world. Dean was momentarily stunned by this new level of weirdness. He didn’t even hear Sam come up until his brother was asking Gabe about the new shipment of straws.

          “Dude. Who even _was_ that guy?”

          “What, Cas?” Gabriel sloshed Dean’s shake into a cup. “He’s been in a few times. I like him. Quiet, _polite_.” He emphasized the last two words as he handed over the drink.

          “Good tipper,” Sam added.

          “Whatever, what a geek, bet he just drives around with that board and fuckin’ Brittney playing trying to look cool.” Dean sucked at the shake and checked his watch. “Gotta go. See you tonight Sam, don’t work too hard.”

          “YOU’RE WELCOME!” Gabriel hollered as Dean ran out of the shop and grabbed his bike.

          “Thanks, Gabe!” He called and threw back the shop another megawatt smile.

 

      Two hours into his shift and already Dean was starting to get antsy. It was different in the old days, when he could just jump down from the tower and drop into push-ups or crunches or squats, anything to catch the attention of the bikinied chicks who always seemed to gravitate toward his station. Flirting, laugher, an exchange of numbers, a quick frisbee toss or two if he was feeling especially gutsy (which is to say, if Benny wasn’t around. Dean’s boss was a laid-back guy, but he was serious about the job and expected his guards to be the same). He’d liked playing with the kids too, and so the time ended up flying by even on slow days like this.

      There were still a few girls around, sunbathing and reading magazines, but Dean didn’t feel much like trying to talk to them. Nor did he have any desire to help out the preschoolers building a shaky sandcastle in the tiny wedge of shade cast by his tower. To anyone who didn’t know him, it would seem as if he was excellent at his job, the perfect lifeguard: vigilant, stoic, and primed for action, gaze scanning the water for the first signs of trouble. He _was_ still good at his job. That’s what everyone kept telling him, and so deep in his heart, Dean wanted to believe it was true. He just wished he could.

         “Hey Dean,” a kind voice brought him out from his thoughts and he looked down to see Jo, carrying a water bottle and a tube of sunscreen.

         “Hey.” He climbed down and wrapped her in a hug, her shoulders and hair slick from having just stepped out of the water. He furrowed his brow. “Everything okay?”

         “Fine, just took a walk to check things out and cool off. And bring you these.” She smiled mischievously, brandishing the bottles. “Mom asked me.”

Dean groaned and scrubbed his face (which did feel awfully hot) with his hands, pushing his sunglasses up off his nose. “Damnit, Ellen. Does she think I can’t even take care of myself?”

         “No, she just worries about you guys, I think it’s a known-you-since-birth-must-keep-mothering thing. Just drink this and I’ll get your back.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but chugged down the water, which was amazingly cold. Jo must have picked it up from the snack bar special for him, a gesture that made Dean feel touched. Small hands smoothed the cool lotion across his back and up his shoulders. Even if she weren’t only nineteen, Jo would always be like a kid sister to him, so the contact was anything but exciting, but it was a surprisingly comforting feeling, having someone initiate such intimacy. He felt better suddenly.

        “Thanks, Jo. And tell your mom thanks too, she means well.”

         “Got it.” Jo rubbed the excess lotion onto her own arms and smiled at him. “Better get back to work, see you around, Dean.”

         “Catch you later, kid.”

 

            Refreshed, Dean watched another few uneventful hours pass at the beach. As the sun sank slowly and the tide rolled in further and further, he began to shift around his chair again. It was the good kind of restlessness. The kind that signaled his crowd was coming. Sure enough, as the families started to pack up for the day, tough, lanky dudes and chicks arrived with their boards and paddled out into the surf, waiting for the waves. Dean rubbed his legs absentmindedly and wished he were among them. No matter what, there was always surfing. No matter how messed up he felt, the waves came every day, and damn, if that wasn’t the only thing keeping him going sometimes.

            He didn’t recognize anyone out there today, but enjoyed watching just the same. Most everyone was at least decent (for which he breathed a sigh of relief, hoping there wouldn’t be any problems), but his eye kept coming back to a guy with black hair and the most confident stance Dean had ever seen. He looked like he _lived_ on that board, like riding came as natural as breathing. Maybe it did, because not only was the dude calm, he was good too, mounting the waves expertly and navigating them toward the shore as if he was the one controlling the water.

            Dean watched the line bob up and down in the tide, standing up and readying themselves for an incoming wave. It built long and slow and huge, then massive, and Dean jerked upright suddenly as the monster wave took out one, two, three surfers, rolling them under and spitting them up again by their staggering boards. He leaped down and ran toward the shore, looking carefully to make sure each of the wipeouts were okay. Two of them, seasoned dudes caught off guard, grinned ruefully at him, but the third was coughing and struggling to keep a hold of her board. Dean dove, swimming out to meet her and help her climb back on.

            “You alright?” he asked.

            She wiped her eyes, ducked her head, and nodded once.

            “It was scary,” she said quietly.

            Dean rested his hand on her board for a moment and inhaled sharply, trying not to say anything. To distract himself, he did another sweep of the area and spotted the natural sailing toward the shore, still standing, like he couldn’t care less what the ocean dished out. As he dismounted and bent to undo his tie, Dean squinted to get a look at his board and gasped out loud.

            “Son of a _bitch!”_ He slapped at the water, startling the girl.

            “Um, do you know that guy? He’s really good.”

            “Yeah,” he growled. “I mean, no, I don’t. Sorry, glad you’re okay, have a good one.”

            Dean swam back to shore, keeping as wide a distance as he could from Smoothie Dork/Douche and hustled up the ladder to his tower, shoving his sunglasses on his face and trying desperately to look serious and involved in…something going on in the water. Dork/Douche didn’t seem to notice him at all as he toweled off and shook out his arms. He looked considerably less douchey in plain blue trunks and without his soundtrack, Dean noticed. The Dork swept that beautiful board under his arm and came slowly up the shore. He was headed straight by the tower and Dean suddenly wished he could be somewhere else, but then the dude was right in front of him and he was catching Dean’s eye and _smiling_ at him and then he was gone.

            Dean gaped. And immediately decided he was not going to think about this.

 

            After such an uneventful day (and it _was_ uneventful, he told himself fervently), Dean had plenty of energy to put together a pot of spaghetti, stick a bowl under Sam’s nose as he studied a mind-numbing diagram of a slug or worm or whatever, toss a load of towels in the washer, and head back to the garage for an evening with his Baby.

            A glossy black 1967 Chevy Impala with leather interior and not a scratch anywhere, there was just one problem with her: she didn’t run. Dean often thought (and just as often, tried not to think) that one of his old man’s greatest hits in a long, _long_ compilation album was letting such a beauty sit abandoned for so many years, too busy himself to tinker with her and too suspicious of his oldest son to trust him with her. It was probably just as well, Dean mused as he popped the hood and rolled up his sleeves. By the time John had kicked the bucket, said son had developed enough know-how from spending every spare moment at Bobby’s that he could practically rebuild her from the ground up. It was five years ago that he’d started, and he was still at it, snatching time whenever he could to fix up Baby bit by bit, taking the time to be sure that not only did she run, but that she was flawless.

            Even better than the satisfaction of remaking something beautiful was the incredible quiet inside his head for a while. It was so much easier to let go, not worry or rehash when he was wrist-deep in metal and oil. No flashbacks. Just radio silence. Loosen that screw, take out that hose, one simple task right after the other.

            Dean was so engrossed in his work that when Sam ambled out in pajama pants, yawning and asking, “Dude, do you even know what time it is?” he didn’t have a clue as to what the answer might be.

            “I dunno man, I’ve only been out here for an hour or so.”

            “Dean, it’s past one. Don’t you work the morning tomorrow?”

            Dean scratched his head and suddenly his exhaustion seemed to catch up with him all at once.

            “Yeah. And you too?”

            “I get off at twelve thirty.” Sam stretched his arms out behind his back and shuffled from one bare foot to the other. Dean started packing up his tools only to hear his brother continue with, “You should bring your board with you tomorrow. I’ll come by at the end of your shift.”

            “Kay,” Dean agreed easily to his two favorite activities: surfing and being with Sammy. Especially now that their time together seemed to keep draining away.

            “Cool. Hey, you seen my laptop charger?”

            Dean smacked himself in the face.

            “Yeah, I found it under the couch this morning and meant to bring it to you. It’s still in my bag.”

            “No worries, I’ll get it in the morning. Night.”

            “Night, Sammy.”

            Sam went back inside and Dean closed his toolbox and let go a long, heavy sigh. Images from the day were leaking back in, the monster wave, the surfer girl’s white face, the water clawing at her…. He shook his head and dragged himself up the back steps and into the house. The Dork on that cool board floated across his mind and he mounted the steps up to his bedroom with increasing ferocity, annoyed with himself for being annoyed by this guy at all.

 

     Dean slept fitfully, halfway to dreaming and halfway expecting what by now felt inevitable: the terror of remembering. But it didn’t come. His alarm dragged him from restless, but non-panic laced sleep before the sun had come up, and he stumbled to the shower again grateful for another normal start to the day. Making a mental note to actually get the towels _in_ the dryer today, he dried himself with the same scratchy, musty beach towel, dressed, scarfed down a handful of cereal, and rode off into the dim, cool morning with his board under his arm. Dean didn’t mind being up so early; the world seemed a lot more peaceful at six in the morning, like nothing had a chance to get messed up yet. Even the sight of the waves breaking at high tide felt comforting: natural and expected rather than terrifying.

     There wasn’t a thing to do once he’d parked his bike and board and jogged up and down the shore, checking the area for weirdness or bad. The beach was empty except for a few middle-aged early-risers, moms power walking together, some dude sweeping a metal detector. Dean settled back in his tower and sighed, willing everything to stay exactly as it was.

 

          “I shit you not man, she fell asleep right in the middle of the quiz, full-on storing and everything!” Sam sat back on his board as they bobbed up and down on the water and laughed. It was early afternoon and though the waves were sloppy and undersized, the sun was bright and it meant the world to see Sam laugh.

Dean chuckled with him, happy that his brother was happy. This was how it should be, he thought. Just the two of them out in the surf, giggling like kids again.

          “That’s unbelievable. What’d everybody do?”

          “Just finished the quiz and left, we’re not ingrates you know.”

          “Oh c’mon, the TA falls asleep during a test and you’re telling me not one person cheated?”

          “Again, not _you_ , Dean,” Sam grinned and splashed at the water in between them.

          “Okay, okay, you’re all big fat nerds, I get it. Isn’t that your easy class anyway?”

          “Yeah. I don’t know why I even signed up for it in the first place, it’s not like Greek mythology was going to change my life. I should have gone for a different elective.”

          “I told you man, pottery. All the chicks take art classes.”

          “Of course you know that,” Sam rolled his eyes.

          “Damn straight.” Dean paused for a moment, letting a flock of unruly seagulls fill the silence. “Thank God it’s almost finals though, right? Then you can catch a break for the summer, no homework and all play, baby.”

         “Right, about that,” Sam hesitated, worrying an especially waxy spot on his board with his thumb. “Dr. Hendrickson, the dean of the science college? He wants me to TA for one of his classes for summer semester, and work with him on some of his research and I told him I would.”

Dean was quiet for a minute.

        “You really wanna do that?”

         “Yeah, I do. This is a really good, awesome thing. Working with Hendrickson is going to look amazing for grad school, and he can help me talk to the right people, open the right doors. I talked to Gabe too and he’s cool with keeping me on with fewer hours.”

         “Oh, and Gabriel knows about this before your own brother? So when were you going to tell me?”

          “Today, Dean, right now. I know it means I’m going to be really busy all summer, but if I go into senior year with this, it looks like I’ll really have a shot a year from now.”

          “So that’s it, you spend all summer at school too, then you go back in the fall and come spring you leave forever?” Dean couldn’t contain his anger now, drawing his hands into fists and tensing up on his board to either hit his brother or paddle far, far away.

          “Dean, you know I don’t even know if I’m going to go someplace else for grad school, I might stay here! And anyway, you’re getting pissed when this isn’t even about you, this is my chance at a future, a real future doing what I want.”

           “I know that!” Dean shouted, all too-aware of the creeping suspicion that he might be in the wrong. “It’s just…you’re all that I’ve got, okay? I know you’ve got to leave someday, but we’re family. It wasn’t supposed to be this soon.”

           “I’m not leaving, Dean,” Sam said gently, too gently, Dean realized. Sam was expecting this. He was prepared for Dean to lash out, and the thought just made him feel limp. “Not for a while, anyway. This doesn’t really change anything, we both were going to work all the time and hardly see each other. Don’t worry about the money either, Hendrickson will let me borrow a lot of his books for next year. And I get a wage for TAing.”

          “What’s it pay,” Dean asked dimly. He hated that Sam had thought to bring up money. It was his job to support them both, so that Sam could focus on school stuff; when he found work at the smoothie shop to help keep them going, Dean hadn’t spoken to him for two days. It was irrational, he knew, but he didn’t like feeling that he’d failed at his job.

          “Not much,” Sam admitted. “So with the reduced hours and the books, nothing should really change.”

Dean nodded.

          “So that’s why you wanted to do this today, to tell me?”

          “That was the main reason, yeah. But hey. Dean, you’re my big brother. I miss you too, you know.”

Dean groaned.

           “No chick flick moments, man.” But he found he could smile a little now.

Sam turned and paddled out further, back to the lackluster waves.

           “Wanna get tacos after this?”

           “Hell yeah,” Dean followed him out. “Hey, tomorrow’s Saturday, I was gonna hit up the Roadhouse before Bobby’s, you coming?”

           “No can do. I’ve got a study group in the morning.”

           “Samantha, you are the king of the dweebs,” Dean crowed, preparing to stand as the wave curled up. “Bitch.”

           “Jerk,” Sam answered with pleasure.

 

    Dean lost the rest of the day on the couch, mindlessly watching an _Alien_ marathon while Sam studied, but by the time night fell, he was itching to leave the house for a while.

          “Hey. Nerdfighter. Let’s hit up a bar.”

          “You do realize this whole college thing actually entails doing work, right?”

          “C’mon, live a little, it’s Friday night! We’ll go to Ash’s place, it’s local. Two beers.”

Sam closed his textbook and gave Dean a look.

          “ _One_ beer, I have my study group in the morning.”

          “Yeah, yeah, let’s just go,” Dean was already pulling on his boots, eager to be gone.

    Ash’s (and everyone called it his for convenience’s sake, as the bar was really owned by Ellen; why anyone would ever trust the yahoo with the place was beyond Dean) was always packed, popular with tourists for its vicinity to the beach and locals for the company: everybody knew everybody, and so by the time Sam and Dean found an open table, they’d already spotted Bobby and Benny together at the bar, passed Charlie (who waved them off in favor of approaching a very cute blonde sipping a margarita), and been handed a beer apiece by Ash himself, “No charge, amigos!”

           “Dude, you gotta forget about going to grad school out of town, where else are you gonna score free crap from all our friends?” Dean demanded, smiling broadly as he took a swig.

          “I have to admit, the community aspect of our lives is pretty great,” Sam said and looked around. Pointing to an empty pool table, he turned back to Dean.

          “You in?”

          “You even gotta ask?”

The night started to fly by pretty fast, Dean demanding rematch after rematch as Sam continued to wipe the floor with his big brother.

          “Leave me with some dignity, could you man?” Dean shook his head as Sam sank yet another fluid shot straight into the pocket. “This is embarrassing.”

           “Not my fault I’m the one with all the God-given talent.” Sam strutted over to the bar for another beer, all thoughts of the morning forgotten in the sheer joy of being a cocky bastard.

Dean chalked up his cue while he waited. He felt warm and loose from the alcohol, his brain wandering back to the forbidden topic of the Dork at Sam’s jab, so that when his brother returned, the words just seemed to fall out of his mouth, “Hey, you know that loser with the douchey clothes who comes into the smoothie shop?”

Sam thought for a moment.

          “You mean Cas?”

          “Yeah, whatever. He was at the beach yesterday, surfing on my turf. Sam, this guy was _incredible_. He made it look easy, not just easy, but like he never did anything else in all his life. There was this monster wave that took all these other people out and he rode it in without breaking a sweat.”

Sam nodded and looked over the table, sizing up his next shot. He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but Dean found himself unable to stop talking.

          “I mean, he just _glided_ to shore and hopped off like it wasn’t anything. He was like a fucking artist, the way he took on the waves. It kinda pissed me off, you know? Here he is with his damn neon shorts and gross Jeep, blasting crap music and flashing his cool board and then he goes and fuckin’ reinvents surfing right on my beach and walks by and smiles at me like he doesn’t even know, and the bastard is just so-”

Dean stopped, horribly aware that Sam was staring at him with rapt attention, smug grin still in place, only now Dean had the uncomfortable feeling that it wasn’t from winning.

            “What? _What?!”_

            “Nothing! So you saw some guy killing it on the waves yesterday, great, cool, that’s awesome, who would have thought he had it in him,” Sam said calmly, setting up the shot.

            “…Yeah,” Dean was tentative, positive his brother was jerking with him somehow.

            “One surfer to another and all, just admiring the sport.” Sam’s ball ricocheted and hit the side, and he stood back to watch Dean, arms folded.

            “Yep.” Dean laid out his cue, eyeing his target.

            “Not even a big deal.”

            “That’s right.” Dean pulled back and jabbed his cue forward just as Sam muttered under his breath, “ _Except_ …”

            The ball skipped up and over the edge of the table with the force of Dean’s sloppy shot and landed on the floor with a dull thud.

            “Except _what,_ dude!”

            “Except you blather on about him like he’s the god of surfing or something and noticed how he smiled at you,” Sam rolled his eyes.

            Dean bent to retrieve the rogue ball and hide his now-burning face.

            “Look, he was good, okay? That’s it, point of story. He’s a loser, but he was good, can we move on now?”

            “Sure,” Sam grinned, and Dean decided he was way too fucking satisfied for one night.

            “Let’s just finish the game and hit up Charlie for a ride, you got your stupid group thing in the morning and there’s no way she was getting lucky with Jennifer Lawrence over there.”

            “Whatever you say,” Sam announced happily and reached for his cue.

 

            His stupid-ass brother yanking him from sleep earlier than he would have liked the next morning, Dean rolled over in bed and groaned as Sam clomped up and down the stairs like a really dumb, late elephant. Silence fell within a few minutes (did the idiot even eat or shower anymore, Dean wondered hazily), but by then he was much too lucid to consider going back to sleep and slowly made his way out of bed and downstairs. He peered inside the fridge for a while without enthusiasm before remembering his plans for the day. After cleaning up (towels, Dean, _towels_ ) and dressing in work clothes – faded jeans and a t-shirt – Dean hopped on his bike and took off for the Roadhouse.

            Ellen’s small, cozy restaurant was just as packed as her bar, if not more so, but Jo greeted him at the door with a coffee pot and whisked him over to a cramped corner table.

            “You want the usual?”

            “Jo, you’re awesome.”

            “And don’t you ever forget it!” She left Dean alone to sip coffee and lazily take in the Saturday morning. He felt his phone vibrate and glanced at it. Message from Sam.

 

                       **you have my charger?**

 

            Dean texted back,

 

**yep, at roadhouse, come get it**

 

            and settled back in the worn chair with the hot mug steaming between his hands. He felt relaxed and at peace with the world….until he spotted who was sitting near the door by the big front window.

            The Dork. Again. Unbelievable.

            Dean shrank down in his seat and tried unsuccessfully to _not_ stare. He was alone, warming his hands around a mug like Dean, and gazing thoughtfully out the window. Dean couldn’t help but notice he was back in douche-apparel: grossly skinny jeans and a shirt with a cat or something on it, sunglasses propped on his messy black hair. Dean wondered if he’d managed to ride right by that stupid Jeep again.

            Clearly his checking-you-out-from-across-the-room skills were getting rusty because the Dork suddenly tore his gaze away from the window and directly onto Dean. He smiled, and like before it was warm and welcoming, and just as Dean was beginning to feel alarmed and hot, the Dork had to go and gesture at his own table in the universal sign for ‘Wanna come over?’ Panicking slightly, Dean shook his head quickly and looked away, but the dude made a more insistent ‘Come here’ wave and mouthed the word, _Please?_ And before he realized he was actually doing it, Dean was walking over, Dean was sitting down, and faced with the complete loser who he knew was really a surf legend in the making, who smiled at him like he was happy to see him even though he didn’t even _know_ him, Dean was losing his cool a little.

            “Hi,” the Dork said, startling Dean again with his unexpectedly deep voice.

            “Uh, hey?” Dean jiggled his leg anxiously and wondered how he’d even let this happen. “Why’d you wave me over?”

            “I saw that you were sitting alone as well and thought you might like to have breakfast together.”

            He said it so simply, without the slightest hint of hesitation, that Dean found himself wanting to stay, even though this was all really fuckin’ _weird_.

            “Okay. Alright. So. I, uh, saw you out the other day,” Dean said carefully, willing himself to keep the topic at that. “And I haven’t seen you around before, where you from?”

            “Santa Barbara. I moved in recently with my aunt. You were very impressive helping that girl in the water.”

            The frankness of the compliment added to the sincerity of the Dork’s low voice, and suddenly Dean was too distracted by his own embarrassment to even realize this meant the guy had been watching him the other day too.

            “What, that? It was whatever, it’s my job, it’s whatever.” Dean shifted on his chair and took a long gulp of coffee. “That’s what I do, I’m a lifeguard. I’m Dean, by the way.”

            “Cas,” the Dork answered, but for the first time, he face was uncertain. Nervous, even, for the briefest of moments. “My name is Cas.”

            Dean squinted.

            “Is that your real name?”

            “Yes! Castiel, that is. After the angel of Thursday. My parents were very religious.” He sighed. “Well, are. Sort of.”

            Dean sensed a story there, but knew better than to press.

            “It really is Cas, then. I kept hoping I heard my brother wrong.” He immediately realized how creepy that sounded, like he was actually _talking_ about Cas when he wasn’t around and quickly added, “He works at the smoothie place.”

            “The tall one or the short one?” Cas asked, sounding perfectly at ease.

            “Tall one. Sam.”

            “He always gives me extra whipped cream.” Cas sipped at his coffee. “I suppose you must have grown up around here then.”

            “Lived here all my life. Sam and me have our folks’ old place in that little neighborhood by the south end of the beach. Kind of a dump.”

            “And your parents live….?”

            “They’re dead,” Dean said simply.

            “Oh.” A funny look crossed Cas’ face, just as Jo appeared out of nowhere with a loaded tray.

            “Pancakes, with honey, and meatlovers’ omelet, extra bacon,” she announced, setting down their plates. Dean looked up in alarm at her casual attitude, as if the two of them sitting together was planned out in advance, and received a sly wink in return.

 _What?_ Dean felt his panic mounting. It was bad enough he’d even come over here to begin with, but now he had to _eat_ with the guy, with Jo acting like it was all totally a normal part of the day?!

            Thankfully he was saved from having to think on it too hard when Cas changed the conversation topic.

            “Do you surf?”

            Dean felt himself smile involuntarily as he dripped Tabasco over his eggs.

            “Hell yeah. Since I could barely walk. I love the water, love the waves, when it’s just me and my board and ocean as far’s I can see.” All too quickly, images of too _much_ water, of endlessly rolling sea, cruel and so cold, drifted through his mind, and he stabbed fiercely at a piece of ham. “But I don’t get to go out as much anymore,” he mumbled. When he looked up, Cas was staring at him carefully, his hands paused in the action of cutting a bite of pancake, golden with honey (who even puts honey on their damn pancake? Dean wondered with now-familiar irritation).

            “I didn’t start until high school,” Cas finally said, knife and fork resuming their work. “When I got my drivers’ license, I had more freedom to leave the house, and I just kept ending up at the beach. My friend Meg taught me, I bought myself a board, and after that, I barely wanted to do anything else.”

            “Yeah. I get that. I saw your Jeep, by the way.” Dean didn’t stop to ask himself if he dared rib the guy already, just found himself smirking around a mouthful of pig. _“Real_ hot ride, man, she’s a thing of beauty.”

            “This from the man who rides his bike everywhere,” Cas intoned smoothly, draping more honey over his breakfast.

            “Hey, the bike sucks, I can admit, but I’ve got a gorgeous gal waiting for me at home. ’67 Impala, perfect condition, gonna run like a dream as soon as I’m done fixing her up.” Dean grinned, feeling his heart swell with pride. “They really don’t make ‘em like that anymore, you’re gonna just eat your heart out, _Castiel.”_

            Cas smiled in return, but without a hint of mockery. Just more of that warmth that was making Dean feel all weird inside.

            “I hope someday I get to see it.”

            And despite not knowing how he was going to respond to this, Dean had opened his mouth to say something anyway, only to realize the two of them were no longer alone. Cas’ eyes flickered to the tall form standing next to the table and Dean nearly jumped out of his chair at the sudden appearance of his brother.

            _“Sam!_ Dude! What are you doing here?” The panic was bubbling hot in his stomach again, Sam wearing the exact same smug bastard look from the night before.

            “I came to get my charger, remember? You said you had it here.” Sam looked over to Cas, who was sitting quietly, watching the brothers. “I don’t think we’ve really met before, I’m Sam, Dean’s brother.”

            “Yes, Dean told me. I’m very pleased to meet you, Sam.”

The absurdly polite exchange (and totally _un_ necessary, he thought heatedly) gave Dean a chance to claw through his bag and rip out the charger, which he tossed roughly at his brother.

           “Thanks.” The dumbass was so cheerful Dean could have decked him. “See you at home. Nice running into you, Cas.”

           “Good bye.” Cas returned to his pancakes as if nothing had happened, seemingly oblivious to Dean’s quiet fuming. “He seems very nice.”

           “Yeah, he’s just a great big ball of sunshine,” Dean growled, tracking Sam through the window as he hopped on his bike and rode away. He waited until the ass was out of sight before pulling out his wallet and slapping a few bills on the table.

Cas looked surprised.

           “Are you leaving?”

           “Gotta get to my other job. I’ll see you around.” Studiously avoiding eye contact with Cas, Dean flew out of the restaurant, grabbed his bike, and peddled off as fast as he could.

 

          “You’re awful early today,” Bobby rumbled once he found his adopted son, legs sticking out from underneath a creaky old sedan in the back garage. He kicked at Dean’s boot. “I’m guessin’ this is not due to a surge in work ethic. What’d you do?”

          “Nothing!”

          “Boy, don’t you ‘nothing’ me, I saw you blast in here like the devil was riding your ass, lookin’ ten kinds of bothered. What did you do?”

          “Bobby, I didn’t do anything. I ate breakfast at Ellen’s, the new cook used way too much grease, my gut was acting up, I got here quick to get to the can, end of story.” Dean was glad he was still under the car to deliver such a, well, _shitty,_ excuse.

Bobby was silent for a moment, obviously considering the validity of this story. It must have passed the test because he rummaged around the tool cabinet and then left, calling back, “There’s Pepto in the house, then get out here and help me with this Ford transmission when you’re done.”

Dean breathed a sigh of relief and went back to work, praying for lots of distracting, messy projects with tons of parts to fix and tinker with. Anything to keep his mind off the bright blue of Cas’ eyes when he smiled.

 

    Bobby finally kicked him out at six thirty – “You ain’t actin’ right, ya yahoo, go feed your damn brother already” – and Dean begrudgingly rode back home in the fading daylight, dreading seeing Sam. He found the kitchen table spread with open books and stacks of notes, but his brother was nowhere in sight. As he opened the fridge and dug out hamburger meat (grilling was a good idea, grilling was _outside_ ), he heard the roar of the shower going upstairs. At least the geek was taking care of himself.

   Dean had fired up the grill (which was a hand-me-down from Benny, but whatever, it worked fine), got the flames going right, and was just throwing the first burgers on when a familiar redhead came up the driveway, bearing a round pan and a hopeful smile. He laughed to himself and waved lazily.

          “Charlie. You’re like a lost dog, you know that? Showing up to the neighbors, hoping they’ll feed you.”

          “I prefer to see it as part of our symbiotic relationship. You give me food, I drive your sorry butts home from the bar even when you’re acting bitchy with each other. Plus I brought pie. Store bought! Yay!” She held out the pie toward Dean like it was free tickets to the Superbowl so he had no choice but to accept the gift.

          “Nice one, Betty Crocker. You like yours on the rare side, right?” Charlie nodded. “Sorry you struck out last night, by the way, she looked like a lot more fun than me’n Sam.”

          “Hey, you win some, you lose some, right? I’m over it.” She did a few hip thrusts to indicate her indifference. “What were you two fighting about, anyway?”

          “Yeah Dean, what _were_ we fighting about?” For the second time in one day, Sam managed to appear at the worst possible moment, grinning and toweling off his damp hair as he strolled down the porch stairs. Dean quickly turned to busy himself with the burgers.

          “We weren’t even fighting, Sam was being a jackass over something stupid, nothing out of the ordinary.”

Sam sighed and clarified in a loud whisper to Charlie, “Dean was fawning over some dude he met. What’d you call him again, Dean? The artist who reinvented surfing and stole your heart by smiling at you?”

          “I DID NOT SAY THAT!”

          “And then,” Sam continued, ignoring his brother’s outburst, “I walked in on them having breakfast together this morning. Pancakes and pork. A love story for the ages.”

Charlie looked, if possible, even more delighted than Sam.

          “Winchester, you bagged yourself a _dude!_ Ku-dos, my friend, what’s his name?”

          “Alright, stop it right there!” Dean brandished his spatula like a weapon against his brother and friend. “I didn’t ‘bag a dude’ and the only thing _he_ walked in on was a seriously messed up morning. Yeah, I saw the guy surf and he’s a friggin’ genius, and then Sam projected some kind of gay longing on me, and then today we’re at the Roadhouse at the same time and he makes me come eat with him. And it was weird as hell. So don’t you two go running to pick out wedding presents because _nothing_ is happening, okay? Drop it.”

Charlie and Sam traded irritatingly knowing looks.

          “Sure, Dean. Let’s eat out here, I’ll get some plates. We’re out of dryer sheets by the way,” Sam flapped out his towel and dashed back up the stairs.

          “Hey, I’m going to the store tomorrow, I’ll come by and get you!” Charlie chirped at Dean, opening up the pie tin in what she clearly thought was a helpful gesture.

          “I hate you both.”

          “No, you know you love us.”

 

    The night lingered. Sam and Charlie kept up their supportive-and-pleasant-and-not-at-all-thinking-about-Dean-with-a-dude routine all throughout dinner, but true to his demand, they did drop the topic. After dinner, the trio played X-Box at Charlie’s until all thoughts of Cas were drained away from everyone’s minds in favor of shooting up zombies. Dean’s head was buzzing with whiskey, synthesized music, and animated blood when he finally let it fall face-first on his pillow, sleep covering him almost instantly.

Sleep did not linger.

    It felt like he’d only been out seconds before his brain was wide-awake and hell-bent on destroying him. Everything was damp with sweat and dark and so _loud_. He could hear screaming, could feel the water churning above his head, but every move he made to free himself left him more tangled and heavy, buffeted up and down by the waves. His stomach rolled itself up in a bundle of knots, sending a twist of nausea up his throat and he couldn’t seem to get enough air. His hands and knees clenched together so tight, sparks of pain began to shoot through them. All he could do was lie still, defeated, waiting for the screaming and the darkness to stop coming.

    Then hands were on his shoulders, real, warm _living_ hands, shaking him, and over the screams and roll of the tide, he could hear Sam yelling at him. And for a time, being conscious wasn’t much better, because as the water drained away, the terror of _still existing_ set in, with all its memory and pain and embarrassment and the cold, soul-draining exhaustion promised by another sleepless night.

           

            Dean doubted Sam was actually asleep when he slipped out, not long after sunrise, but if he wanted Dean to believe he was, well, at least he could give his baby brother that. There wasn’t anywhere to go, with the beach seeming hardly appealing, so before long he found himself at the auto shop. Bobby was up, sipping coffee and watching as he wheeled in and headed for the garage without a word. Dean unlocked the cabinets, took the tools he needed, and went to the little Corolla with serious engine deposits he’d started on the afternoon before. He popped the hood, peered inside, and suddenly found himself incapable of doing a thing. He stared and stared until the engine began to warp into a mess of twisted grey and black, but then there was warmth at his shoulder again. Bobby held out a steaming mug of his bitter black coffee, face tight with emotion, clapped Dean on the back once, and left him alone. Dean drank and thought of nothing. But by the time the cup was empty, he felt up to getting to work.

 

            It wasn’t his most productive day, with Dean getting little done beyond scraping out the engine and changing a battery, but when Charlie pulled up early in the afternoon, Bobby just waved them off. Dean stowed his bike in the back of the truck and swung himself into the passengers’ seat with a mumbled hello. Charlie replied in a similar fashion, looking nervous and upset. They drove in silence for a few minutes.

            “Sam told me you had a bad night,” Charlie broke in. Dean looked up, but she was staring determinedly at the road.

            “Yeah.”

            “Sorry.”

            “ ‘S okay.”

            “Was it-” Charlie paused to take a deep breath. “Was it because me and Sam were teasing you last night?” It was obvious the answer had been worrying her.

            Dean forced himself to smile.

            “No. It just happens sometimes. Not a thing anybody can do about it. I’ll be okay, Charlie. Really.”

            She let go a sigh of relief, and Dean wished he could do the same. He _would_ be okay, but not today. Recovering from these little funfests always took a few days, and he’d learned by now that it was easier when everyone _didn’t_ talk about it. Better to just get through the day like nothing had happened, and leave the shaking and creeping paranoia for the lonely nights. It wasn’t awesome, but hey, it worked.

            “Anyway, sorry for going to town on you about this surfer dude. It’s cool, you can admire a guy’s skill without wanting to bang him, you know.”

            “I _do_ know, it all just got weird with Sam and everything, and then him wanting to eat breakfast together…. like, what’s that even about?”

            Charlie pressed her lips together, clearly trying not to smile. Dean groaned.

            “What?”

            “Well, don’t freak out, but it kinda sounds like he might like you. Do dudes platonically ask other dudes to have breakfast together? I’ve never been good with the social habits of straight boys.”

            “So what, you’re saying he’s like, _interested_ in me? Based on just that? I just met the guy, I don’t even know if he’s into that.”

            “You don’t even know if _he’s_ into that?” Charlie asked pointedly, letting the underlying, unspoken question hang in the air for a long moment. She pulled the truck to a stop at the grocery store parking lot and looked expectantly at Dean, who flushed and grumbled, “Whatever, let’s just do the thing we came here for.”

            “And then cute boy talk later, right?”

            “Cute boy talk never, Charlie. One of the joys of our friendship.”

 

            An hour later, Dean clomped through the house, laden down with groceries. Sam, who was at his perch, surrounded by his usual host of books, barely looked up in acknowledgement. His first final was in two days, Dean knew. Quietly as he could, Dean put away the food, dumped a bag of frozen ravioli in some boiling water on the stove, and folded the towels that had finally ended up in the dryer, courtesy of the younger Winchester. After pushing a plate of ravioli toward Sam and jabbing him in the side with a highlighter until he ate it, Dean messed around with Baby for the rest of the evening, not really working, just trying to occupy himself as long as possible. Still, the inevitable came. Around midnight, he finally admitted defeat and gave in to the exhaustion that made his eyes feel gritty and hot and his head ache. Lying rigid in bed, Dean shuddered his way through each flashback, until finally, a few hours from dawn, he settled into a light, fitful sleep.

           

            Monday rolled along easy enough, for which Dean was eternally thankful, as his brain was still slowly transitioning back to normal. Work and Sammy were fine, and he even caught half an hour of uninterrupted shut-eye late in the afternoon. It was enough to keep him going through a repeat performance of the evening before, just making food, doing some cleaning up, and spending time in the garage to stay out of Sam’s (obscenely long) hair. When he finally packed it in and padded back into the house, it was to find his brother passed out face down on his computer, snoring slightly. Dean snorted and whacked him on the shoulder.

            “Hey. Sleeping beauty. Let’s get you in a real bed, c’mon.”

            Sam groaned himself awake and rubbed at his face.

            “Mmmmh, what time is it?”

            “Little after eleven.”

            “That’s it?” Sam jabbed at his keyboard and scrambled under the table for a dropped pen. “D’you wanna make me some coffee, I’m going to stay up a while.”

            “Slow your roll there, Poindexter. You’ve been working your ass off for days for tomorrow, you’ve got it under control. All you need now’s a decent night’s sleep, go the fuck to bed.”

            “Maybe you’re right,” Sam said wistfully. He looked exhausted, which sent a white-hot bolt of guilt through Dean’s stomach. His brother had a hard time as it was keeping an okay sleep schedule; he didn’t need Dean’s bullshit adding to the mess.

            “C’mon, up.” Dean fell to herding behavior to push the dangerous thoughts from his mind, shoving at his mountain of a brother until Sam closed his laptop and stood. He yawned.

            “Thanks, Dean,” Sam muttered sleepily and clomped up the stairs.

            Dean shut out all the downstairs lights, gathered Sam’s books up for him, and sighed as he made for the stairs himself.

            “Idiot,” he cursed.

 

            Dean began the next early morning with leaving Sam some breakfast – a couple defrosted breakfast burritos and a pot of coffee – before he left for the beach. It shaped up to be another mellow morning, just some fights to break up on the volleyball courts between teenagers ditching school, and Jo came to visit a while. By mid-day, Dean decided he was feeling good enough to put in a few hours at the shop. After a run back home to change clothes and grab lunch, he took off for Bobby’s, enjoying the sunshine and the calm that had returned inside his head.

            Just as he was thinking about calling Charlie to come over later, Dean became aware of some _god-awful_ pop song increasing in volume over his shoulder. He turned his head and groaned in despair at the sight of that baby blue Jeep approaching. He should have known.

Cas pulled slowly up beside him and yelled something over the music, but neither his voice nor the whiny girl’s declaration about teams was enough to obscure the breath-taking screech of the Jeep’s brakes. Dean stopped riding immediately and approached the driver’s side, grinding his teeth, as Cas finally came to a stop.

          “Hello, Dean,” he said innocently, pulling off his sunglasses and smiling. “Do you want a ride?”

          “What the _hell_ is wrong with you?” Dean gestured wildly toward the wheel between them, scowling.

Cas blinked.

            “I’m afraid I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

            “Your brakes, man! Can’t you hear that? Can’t you _feel_ that? Your brake pads are totally worn out, like to the _death_ , you’re probably fucking up your rotors so hard right now!”

            “Oh. I - I didn’t know…”

            “Didn’t know your car is not supposed to sound like a thousand pounds of flatware having an orgy in a garbage disposal?” Dean threw his hands up in disgust and massaged the back of his head, trying to calm himself down. “Okay. Get out.”

            “Excuse me?”

            “You wanna give me a ride? Okay. We’re taking a ride to my work, but I’m driving, I can’t let you touch those brakes again.” Dean lifted his bike and just managed to fit it in the back as Cas obediently slid out of the car and went over to the passenger’s.

            “I really didn’t know it was that bad,” he mused, touching the dashboard lightly. “It still ran. I just figured I’d take it in eventually.”

            Dean hopped into the driver’s seat and immediately shut off the music.

            “ _Not_ a good philosophy, man. Your ride starts making noise, you take it to somebody if you wanna keep it.”

            “And where are we taking it now?”

            “Singer’s Auto Shop. It’s your lucky day, Cas, I can fix this.”

            “Oh.” Cas sat back in his seat and looked over at Dean curiously. “So you’re a mechanic too.”

            “Not officially, I just help out. Guy who owns the place, Bobby, is a friend of the family.”

            “I see. Well, I have to say, this is not at all how I saw today turning out.” Cas sighed.

            Dean stared at the road in silence for a minute, wavering. He didn’t want to come off as too friendly, let the dude get the wrong idea. But it seemed like a dick move not to say anything, so finally he settled on, “Hey, it ain’t the end of the world. Is it going to mess you up too bad, not having a car for a few days?”

            “It’ll take that long?”

            “Um, I really dunno man, probably, it’s just the two of us there.”

            “Then could we exchange numbers? So you could text me updates?”

            And Dean really, _really_ wanted to protest, to tell him that Bobby usually took care of that stuff, but Cas was already pulling out his phone and looking up expectantly.

            “I don’t usually give out my number for work,” Dean muttered, and rattled off the sequence anyway.

            “Then you must think pretty highly of me.”

            Dean’s eyes widened in shock as he looked over to Cas, still typing away with a cheeky smile lifting one side of his mouth. Was Cas _flirting_ with him? he wondered frantically, remembering Charlie’s speculations.

            “Even if I did neglect to take proper care of my car,” Cas continued, grin slowly fading. “I should have known better. I guess I won’t be making it to the beach this week then.”

            “It’s only Tuesday, hopefully I can get it done fast.” The quicker he could get this taken care of, the fewer chances Sam and Charlie had to find out about the whole thing, Dean told himself firmly.

They had finally arrived at the shop. As slowly and carefully as possible, Dean urged the Jeep to a stop inside the garage, the grinding brakes still loud enough to make him wince. Thankfully, the garage was empty; maybe he actually had a shot at this whole ASAP thing.

          “What’ve we got here? You running some kind of pick-up service now, Dean?” Bobby had wandered in and was looking at the car with interest. Way too _much_ interest, Dean realized with a start, noting how Bobby’s gaze kept flicking between the Jeep and Cas. Sure enough, the next thing out of Bobby’s friggin’ mouth was, “Who’s this?”

          “I’m Cas,” came the answer from the Jeep’s owner, who hopped out of the car and strode right up to Bobby to shake his hand. Bobby accepted and nodded approvingly. _Crazy_ polite, Dean thought again, rolling his eyes as he pulled out his bike. “Dean and I ran into each other on the road and he kindly offered to fix up my brakes.”

          “That so?” Bobby looked over to Dean with one of those infuriating _knowing_ looks he was beginning to loathe.

          “Damnit, yes okay, he goes and runs his brake pads down to nothing, like an idiot, of course I’m gonna fix it.”

          “Sounds like it might be more than brake pads. This thing’ll be here a few days, son,” Bobby turned back to Cas. “You got somebody who can come pick you up? Your girlfriend?” The last word was delivered with such casual indifference that Dean just _knew_ it was meant for him. Too furious to speak, he folded his arms across his chest and glared daggers at the Jeep. Stupid piece of shit.

          “No, I’m unattached, actually.” Cas was busy with his phone. “Excuse me.” He stepped outside, holding the phone up to his ear.

As soon as Cas was out of earshot, Dean rushed forward so he could hiss at Bobby, “What was _that_ about?”

          “Sensitive, aren’t we? This the boy you’ve been mooning over then?”

          “How the hell do you even know about that?” Dean was having trouble keeping his voice down, and watched tensely as Cas paced back and forth outside, talking.

          “Dean, if you’re not going to join the modern age and get a Twitter account, you’re going to miss things.”

          “Sam.” Dean cursed under his breath.

Bobby chortled softly.

          “He had a good one about the two of you at breakfast, something about pig and pancakes? Anyway, all you committed to is fixing his car. You boys wanna talk about doing anything else with or in cars, you can cross that road when you come to it.”

          “Damnit Bobby, he’s going to hear you. _Nothing_ went on or is going on between us and it never will, Sam’s just blowing shit out of proportion.”

          “Mmm hmmm. If you say so.” Bobby looked out at Cas, who seemed to be finished, and nodded. “I’ve gotta get back to work. You kids have fun.”

          “Bobby…” Dean groaned, but it was too late. Bobby was gone and Cas was back inside, looking at Dean with his startlingly blue eyes.

          “My aunt is on her way.”

          “Great.” Dean busied himself with lifting the Jeep, hoping Cas would take the hint that he should go wait somewhere, anywhere else.

          “I just hope she doesn’t tell my father. He’ll only get to feel justified in his decision; my parents never even wanted me to know how to drive.” Cas sounded as if he were talking to himself but Dean couldn’t help but be interested at such a weird confession.

          “Why wouldn’t your parents want you to drive? And what’s it matter anyway, you’ve got to be like twenty-four, twenty-five…”

          “Twenty-seven,” Cas clarified. Dean blinked. They were the same age. “And the reason was two-fold. In the first place, they didn’t want me to be able to go wherever I wanted, whenever I wanted. They were always…very protective. Additionally, there was no need. I had my own driver.”

          “You had your own _driver?”_ Dean looked up in amazement from the wheel he was dismantling. “What, are you loaded or something?”

          “I was. My family owns the largest Christian printing press in the country. And my father’s side, the Novaks, have always been wealthy.”

          “Wait, Novak? I’ve heard that before. Weren’t they real big in the military around here?”

          “Three Navy captains and one rear admiral.” Cas sounded bored. “My oldest brother and uncles. I myself attended military school until I dropped out at sixteen. My parents were horrified, which I guess was just the beginning of the end.”

          “Woah. Which side’s your aunt on?”

          “My mother’s. She manages the training facility here for the distribution center, so she’s always working. But she’s supposed to be keeping an eye on me, so I’m not surprised she offered to drop everything to come right over.”

          “Your folks again?”

          “My father. My mother died three years ago, from a heart attack.” Cas’ nonchalance at relaying this information reminded Dean of himself, another random thing they apparently had in common. He wondered briefly if Cas also hid away parts of how he felt about the death. If he ever saw his mother sometimes in a crowd, felt sudden brushes of cold in his heart for no reason at all.

           “You’d think he would want nothing to do with me, seeing as I did technically run away from home. Which I realize sounds strange at my age. But I’m the youngest, and he’s been long convinced that if he kept me close beside him, he could make me into what I was supposed to be. Now it seems he still isn’t willing to relinquish his hold. Aunt Naomi keeps him updated on my activities, I know, but we haven’t spoken since I left and I am in no hurry to change that.”

Dean stood up slowly, processing all he’d just heard. It was such a wild story, part of him was inclined to not believe a word of it. But like before, something about the way Cas spoke was so open, so _honest_ that Dean knew he was telling the truth. Some small, different part of him also just knew somehow that Cas hadn’t told this much of his life story to anyone else. He didn’t know what to make of that.

          “So what, you ran away from your control-freak dad to your workaholic aunt so you could drive anywhere you want and surf all day?”

          “More or less, yes.”

          “Okay.” Dean snorted a little, in spite of himself. “You know, you’re not really what I’d expect from a rich, churchy, military school drop-out.”

          “Thank you,” Cas said gratefully. A car was pulling up outside and he glanced at it. “That’s my aunt.”

Dean followed him out and was only slightly surprised now to see the brand-new BMW coupe waiting for them. Cas waved vaguely at the driver’s tinted window and turned to Dean.

          “You’ll text me then?”

          “Um, yeah, sure.” Dean rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, trying to remember the last time anyone had looked forward to him texting them. Cas gave him _that_ smile again, the one that felt like warmth and promise, and disappeared inside the coupe.

Dean immediately went back to the garage as Cas and his aunt drove away, suddenly eager to throw himself into the work. He’d only made it as far as determining that Cas had indeed fucked up his rotors before Bobby was back by his side.

         “So?”

         “New brake pads, calipers, rotors, the works.”

         “Not the Jeep, boy, the driver. You two looked like you were getting along alright, at least you didn’t seem ready to run him over for abusing his car anymore.”

         “He’s not like what I thought,” Dean admitted. He felt his phone vibrate in his back pocket and wiped his hands on his jeans before pulling it out.

           

**This is Cas. Forgot to give you my number. :)**

 

Dean stared. A smiley face? Seriously?

          “On second thought, maybe not. What kind of grown man uses emojis?” He sighed, frustrated all over again. “And drives their brakes to shit and dresses like a high school douchebag and listens to crappy girl music and _still_ surfs like a legend?”

Bobby rapped the windshield with his knuckles, amused.

          “You tell me.”

          “Bobby, you can’t say anything about this to Sam. _Or_ to Twitter or whatever. I just don’t want him to get the wrong idea.”

          “That you’re helping out some guy you kind of know when really, you’re just helping out some guy you kind of know? Not a whole lot of room for interpretation there, son.”

          “Yeah, well, everyone’s already making something out of nothing, I don’t want to give him more ammo,” Dean uttered darkly, staring at the worn-out disc in his hand.

 

    Dean quit for the day a couple hours later. Mounting his bike to go home, he shifted on the seat and felt the weight of his phone in his pocket, suddenly heavy and conspicuous. He wavered for a long moment, then groaned and yanked it out.

 

              **Hey, it’s Dean. U need new brake pads, calipers, rotors, drums and shoes. Got the front tires all done today**

 

He’d barely put the thing back in his pocket before it vibrated.

 

              **Thank you Dean! It seems I’m very lucky I ran into YOU today ;)**

 

   Cas’ text ran through Dean’s head all the way home. Charlie was right. Straight dudes didn’t ask other straight dudes to breakfast and they didn’t send fruity texts and unload their whole back-story on the other one when they’d only just _met_.

A car honked as Dean veered too far onto the road, but he shrugged it off.

    It wasn’t as if he was, like, _bothered_ by Cas’ interest; he wasn’t hateful or anything. If anything, it was kind of flattering. Take out the dumb shirts and Cas was a good-looking guy, Dean could admit that.

    It was just…. suppose that, okay, they started hanging out, and Cas would inevitably want more than he could give, and by then it would be all weird because Dean did have this sort of extended-family thing going on and they’d be all tangled up in it too, and would probably cuss him out for stringing him along, and anyway, he was all wrong for Cas to begin with, Cas and his fuckin’ rich family and manners and expensive surfboard and blue eyes and messy black hair that just begged you to run your hands through it, Cas who obviously deserved _more_ than what Dean had-

He stopped, literally stopped riding, only a minute or two from home by now, the house within sight. Dean knew he clearly didn’t have a whole lot of control over the stuff his head came up with these days, but that particular line of thought absolutely had to go. Stow it, Winchester. Never let it see the light of day.

Slowly, he peddled up the driveway and went inside, too dazed to even notice at first that Sam actually looked up and smiled when he came in.

          “Hey!”

Quickly, Dean remembered to pull himself together.

          “Hey yourself. What’s up?”

          “My first final was today, it was a freakin’ _breeze_. I feel great right now, I got another tomorrow though.”

          “ ‘Course you nailed it, Geek Boy. But congrats!” Dean went to the fridge to extract a beer and downed half of it in one go. He definitely needed that.

          “I picked up some chicken on the way home,” Sam called, already back to his computer screen. Dean dug through the bag for a thigh and gnawed at it, suddenly ravenous.

Sammy was happy. His head was back to okay. For at least a brief time, he was helping out _somebody_. It was enough, Dean decided, tipping back his beer again. And if that _somebody_ was interested in some kind of thing with him, well, he’d burn that bridge once they got to it.

 

    The next morning was cool and rainy with a late-spring storm. Dean stood at the window, glaring out at the cruel day and promising himself he’d finish up with the Impala, this month for sure. Sam joined him after a few minutes, his usual morning haste forgotten. The brothers exchanged defeated looks.

          “I guess I can call somebody from my lab group,” Sam muttered slowly.

          “Yeah. And I’ll ask Jo.”

Sam shook his head, looking (in Dean’s opinion) like a sheepdog.

          “We have got to get our shit together, we can’t be bumming rides from people forever. I know the Chevy’s like your baby or whatever, but are you at least getting close with it?”

          “Hey, you can’t rush art, Sam. But yeah. Soon.”

 

   As Dean expected, Jo was gracious about picking him up on her way in.

          “You live three minutes away and we’re going to the same place, it’s not like it’s some big inconvenience to me.”

          “Yeah, but you’re _always_ doing shit for me, and I never get to pay you back. How’m I supposed to keep my masculinity card?” Dean was only half-joking and he knew that Jo knew it. She rolled her eyes.

          “Right, because I care soooo much about preserving your precious macho feelings. And you do pay me back, Dean, you keep my car running great, you scare away all the creeps at work, and you give my mom someone else to yell at and smother, it’s awesome.”

Dean huffed and lightly traced a raindrop’s path with his finger against the window. He still felt inadequate somehow.

          “Hey, you okay? You seem kinda off today.” Jo’s concerned face suddenly contorted into a playful smile. “Is it that guy you were with the other day? Dean Winchester, are you having boy problems?”

          “No!” Dean was instantly pulled from his reflective state. “Goddamn, what is everyone’s obsession with that, you all need to get _lives.”_

          “Okay, okay, I get it.” Jo’s smile remained intact. “Anyway, you going straight home after work or do you want me to drop you off at Bobby’s?”

Dean remembered the blue Jeep sitting in the garage and felt his gut go cold.

          “No, I’m going to stay and hang with Benny after, don’t worry about it,” he mumbled.

          “Suit yourself. God, I am _not_ staying out in this mess a second longer than I have to, nobody better even go into the water today.”

  

     Predictably, it was a miserable day at the beach. Dean sat huddled up in his tower through the long afternoon, stiff with cold, watching the grey waves build and froth against the shore and still dreading the end of his shift. When it finally came, he ducked into the management building (savoring the warmth) and watched until Jo pulled away from the parking lot, the windshield wipers on her little car working furiously to ward off the steady flow of rain. There was nothing to do then but head for Bobby’s on foot, Dean running as fast as he could through the storm. Within minutes, every inch of him was drenched.

Why couldn’t it have been _today_ that Cas decided to show up and offer him a ride, Dean asked himself ruefully.

 

          “You’re a damn idiot,” Bobby told him when he finally made it to the garage, exhausted and panting despite the cold. “Why are you even here, Dean, you didn’t need to come if you couldn’t find a ride; ain’t nothing here that urgent.”

Still trying to catch his breath, Dean wiped the rain from his face and slapped the hood of the Jeep in answer.

          “Oh, well my apologies, I forgot,” Bobby said in a mocking tone. “You had to dash on over here to fix up this thing so you can get it out of here and keep anyone from knowin’ that you give half a shit about some guy.”

          “Just s’long as we’re on the same page.” Dean gasped and heaved himself to the ground, immediately going to work on the left rear tire.

          “Hold up, jackass, and let me get you some dry clothes. God only knows you’ve left enough crap here over the years.”

Bobby returned quickly, tossing a hoodie and pair of track pants at Dean, which he eagerly pulled on.

          “Idiot,” he repeated, shaking his head. “I’m goin’ in the house, give a holler when you’re ready for me to take you home.”

Dean looked up from his project, surprised by the offer.

          “Really?”

          “I suspect you’re too pig-headed to ask anyone else to come here and risk seeing that thing and I can’t have you running all the way back in the rain, idjit, if you died then I’d be stuck doing all your work.”

It was about as touchy-feely as Bobby got and Dean appreciated the gesture.

          “See you when I’ve got these old drums out, then. Any change there’s dinner involved in this deal?” He grinned up his mentor.

           “I’ll see what I can rustle you up,” Bobby grunted on his way out.

The work went faster than Dean expected: all the new parts were miraculously in stock and after stopping briefly to wolf down the sandwich Bobby brought, he felt himself relaxing into the flow of working on a car. It was only two hours later that he was locking up and dashing through the rain to the old house behind the garage.

           “Finished?” The inquiry came from behind a newspaper in the living room that was folded up and set aside when Dean came in.

          “Pretty much. I’ll bleed the brakes and finish the assembly tomorrow before he comes back.”

Bobby looked him over sternly before heaving himself up out of the easy chair and fishing in his pocket for his keys.

          “You feelin’ alright, Dean? You’ve been acting real edgy lately. And you know, it’s okay to admit that you’re not doing so good, you’ve had a lot on your plate for a long time now and-”

Dean groaned loudly to cut him off, annoyed.

          “I _know_ that, Bobby, I’m fine, can we just go already?”

          “So sensitive.” Bobby shook his head and grabbed his jacket. “Don’t know where I went wrong with you there, boy.”

 

    Dean decided he’d had his fill of working in a damp garage for the night and had parked his ass on the couch to watch some spy movie when he remembered he hadn’t texted Cas yet. He glanced at Sam, who was muttering to himself about larvae and pulling at his own hair, apparently unconsciously. The coast was clear, then.

 

              **Im basically done. U can come by tomorrow to pick it up**

 

Again, Cas responded with freakish speed.

 

              **That was fast. I’ve barely had time to miss the waves. Plenty of time to want to run away all over again, my aunt called you “that greasy hoodlum” today**

Dean snorted.

 

                  **Ive had alot worse. My promdate’s dad said i was a son of a one-eyed whore from hell. Wasn’t working out w/ her anyway**

 

          **Sounds like a line from a forgotten Johnny Cash song.**

**So u do know some decent music. I was ready to give u up as a lost cause. Britney spears?**

**…I would try to defend myself if not for the fact that I am listening to Ke$ha’s first album, right now…**

**Plz let that be a joke**

**It’s not. Through headphones, even, Aunt Naomi calls her Satan’s harlot. Big fan of charming nicknames, my aunt**

 

   Before he could stop himself, Dean laughed out loud, just one big, genuine outburst. He choked it back abruptly, but when he glanced over at the kitchen table, Sam was already staring back with way too much interest.

          “Dean. Who are you texting?” He said it casually, without the slightest change in inflection, and Dean knew he was screwed.

          “Ah, nobody, just read something dumb online.”

          “You’ve been smiling at your phone and laughing to yourself for five minutes. Who are you texting, Dean?”

          “No one! God, mind your own business, Samantha.”

Sam stood up now and cleared the distance between them in two long steps.

          “DEAN. WHO ARE YOU TEXTING.”

          “Why…do you…care?” Dean choked out as his not-so-little brother rolled him off the couch in a headlock. He extended his arm out as far as it would go, trying to keep the phone out of Sam’s grasp, but his brother had a reach like an orangutan and snatched it up easily. Dean groaned, fearing what was coming next.

Sam scrolled through his messages gleefully and laughed in triumph.

          “I care because I was RIGHT, you’ve been talking to Cas! What is that even about?”

          “I’m working on his car, alright? You happy now? You caught me doing my job, good for you.” Dean grabbed his phone and tried to look indifferent as he settled back down on the couch.

           “Mmm hmm. Okay then.” Sam folded his arms across his chest smugly. “If you wanna pretend you weren’t just flirting with a dude, that’s cool. I’m your brother; it’s my job to look the other way during your heterosexuality crises.”

          “You’re gonna have some other kind of crisis on your hands if you don’t shut your mouth, baby brother,” Dean snapped, turning all his attention to the movie still going. Right, the movie where the bad guy was currently running his hands all over James Bond, because of course Dean had to be just that lucky. Typical.

Sam glanced briefly at the screen, snorted once, and returned to the kitchen without another word. The two sat in silence for another few hours, Dean’s phone sitting untouched on the coffee table.

 

    Despite the evening’s events, Dean was in a good mood the next day when he coasted down to the shop, standing up on his pedals, singing Black Dog to himself, and generally feeling refreshed from the return of the warm weather, so he wasn’t exactly paying attention. It wasn’t until he made to lean his bike against the side of the garage that he noticed Cas sitting there quietly on an overturned bucket, looking amused (why did he have to be _singing?)_.

          “Cas! Man, what are you doing here?”

Cas got up shyly from his perch and motioned toward the garage.

          “I didn’t know when you’d be working today, so I had my aunt drop me off and thought I’d just wait here. Is that alright?”

Dean sighed and rubbed at his face.

          “Yeah, it’s alright. You didn’t have to wait out here though, where’s Bobby?”

          “He said he had to run into town for some parts.”

Dean went to unlock the building and found it already open. He glanced back at Cas for an explanation.

          “He said he would leave it unlocked since my car’s the only one in here.”

Dean looked Cas over in confusion, taking in his green shorts and blue striped tank along the way. Could be worse.

         “I thought it would seem…weird if you got here and I was just sitting inside.”

         “Yeah Cas, _that_ would make it weird.”

Dean went to work under the hood, basting out the old brake fluid and pouring in fresh.

         “Well, since you’re here and Bobby isn’t, you can help me finish up. Get in the car. When I say go, you’re going to push down the brakes, real slow and easy.”

Cas climbed in dutifully and watched with interest as Dean attached the tubing at the rear.

         “What are we doing, exactly?”

         “Gotta bleed your brakes.”

         “Oh.” Thankfully he didn’t appear interested enough for a longer explanation. “So I gather you don’t like my music then.”

Dean released a huff of laughter.

          “I don’t like salad. I think the kind of music _you_ like should be illegal. What the hell do you get out of pop songs about dumbass kids?”

          “That brings us back to my upbringing, actually. I wasn’t allowed to listen to any popular music growing up, nothing but hymns and gospel music. Everything else was immoral. As you might imagine, I was not very popular in school. I thought Blue Oyster Cult was a literal cult until a few years ago.”

Dean laughed again, torn between finding the story pathetic and actually kind of…adorable? No, not adorable, some other, less cringe-worthy adjective that still meant sort of cute…

Okay, it was fucking adorable.

            “I guess I get it, you listen to crappy music because your crappy childhood was BOC-free. Wait, oh my God, don’t tell me that’s why you dress like your parents took you to Pac Sun for back-to-school shopping.”

            Cas looked down at his outfit, surprised.

            “You don’t like my clothes either? My clothing, my music, and my car? If I didn’t know better, I’d think you didn’t like me at all.”

            Dean froze and felt his brain go numb. There was no ambiguity at all anymore, Cas was definitely flirting with him now. He was certain his brain wasn’t going to restart in time to save himself, but then his mouth blurted out, “I like you enough. Anyone else, I’d have ripped those clothes off by now and set them on fire.”

            All at once, Dean’s head was back to working order and going a hundred miles a second. Was that too suggestive? Was it too suggestive for a dude? _Where had it even come from?_ It had been so long since he’d flirted with anyone, he couldn’t even remember how this was supposed to go, and why was he playing along with this anyway? The goal was to get him _out_ of the place, Winchester, not let Cas think he wanted to tear his clothes off.

            Luckily Cas only grinned and continued where he’d left off.

            “You’re right, though. I wore a school uniform nearly all my life, and even the clothing I wore at home and to church was picked out for me. I kept it to jeans and button-ups when I still lived at home, but now that I can wear whatever I want, I do. I love patterns. I love color. I’ve missed out on so much.”

            “Yeah yeah yeah, freedom to ugly shorts, that’s what the founding fathers would have wanted. Okay now, Cas, I’m about to start turning this bolt and I need you to push down. The pedal’s going to sink when I do it, but you keep pushing down, you got it?”

            “Yes, Dean.”

            “Alright. Go! Easy, easy now, keep going and…almost…stop! Nice job.”

            Cas looked pleased with himself.

            “That wasn’t so hard.”

            “Hah, yeah, that was just once. We gotta keep doing it until we get all the new brake fluid in. On every tire.”

            “…oh.”

            The pair worked mostly without speaking, except for Dean’s regular “Go” and “stop,” for a while before he thought to ask, “Cas, how’s it that you have all this free time anyway. Don’t you have a job?”

            Cas was quiet for a minute.

            “No. I should be going in to the training facility, to start learning how to manage it one day, but I could only make myself go once. It was so disheartening. All those people being taught how to work equipment and box things up, and for what? So that more people can read about someone else telling them how to pray right to get the life they want?” He sighed deeply and responded accordingly to Dean’s soft “go”.

           “The truth is, I hate the family business. I’d rather do anything else, something worthwhile, or at least worthwhile to me. I’ve volunteered now a few times at the animal shelter and the soup kitchen downtown, but I know it’s not enough. I want to open a non-profit for something, help people who have nothing and give back to a world that gave me so much. Too much, really. And own a bee farm. Do you ever wonder what will become of humanity without bees?”

Dean ducked down to hide a smile, but Cas leaned out of the Jeep and saw him.

           “It’s all fairly ridiculous, I know.”

           “No! I mean, yeah, the bees are kind of out there, but I know what you mean about the family business anyway. My dad was a firefighter for twenty-three years. And when he was younger, he was a lifeguard too, had a near perfect record. I was going to do the same thing, be just like him. We never really discussed it or anything, I always just kind of…knew. But then he died. Went out one evening when Sam was still in high school and never came back. The whole building collapsed in and he went in for this guy who was trapped under a piece of the roof. Guy got out, but Dad got knocked around by another piece coming down, had a concussion, and suffocated. And after that, I didn’t want to follow the path anymore. Too easy to die and leave behind the people who need you. Go.”

Cas pushed down again. When he spoke, his deep voice was gentle.

          “I am so sorry, Dean. Truly. That’s a terrible thing to have to go through. And was your mother already-?”

          “Yep. Died when I was six.” Dean stood up and shook out his arms, willing himself not to dwell. “We’re finished. Now I just have to put everything back together and you can be on your merry way.”

          “It must have been difficult, just you and your brother.” Cas stepped out of his car and leaned back against a wall to watch Dean.

          “It wasn’t so bad, really. I mean, when Mom died, Sam could barely talk and Dad kind of lost his mind for a while, so that sucked. It was pretty rough for a couple years, I guess. But by the time we lost Dad, we’d kind of built up our own community. We had Ellen and Jo – they run the Roadhouse – and their cousin Ash, and my boss Benny, and our friend Charlie, and Bobby. And without Dad around, Sam could quit the lifeguards and go for college, which is what he always really wanted. We’re okay. I’ve had to work hard to keep us going sometimes, but it’s alright. We’re family.”

          “Yes. I think I understand.”

Dean assembled all four wheels with practiced hands, completing the task in record time, even with an audience. He gave the Jeep one final pat and nodded to Cas, who smiled broadly.

          “Thank you, Dean. Thank you so much. What do I owe you?”

           “Um,” Dean scratched his head and looked away. This was also Bobby’s area, and he’d never been so sorry to not have the old man around. “Let’s just call it three hundred even for the parts.”

Cas squinted at him.

          “Dean, are you undercharging me because I just told you I currently have no regular source of income?”

          “Don’t be stupid, of course not.” Which was a big fat yes. If Cas knew this, he wisely chose not to comment and instead dug out a thick wad of cash from his pocket. He quickly counted off twenties and tens.

Dean raised both eyebrows.

         “Seriously, man? You just carry that stack around with you?”

         “Not usually, no.” Cas handed over the money and tucked away the remainder. Dean tried not to notice how little was left, but Cas obviously felt the gaze on him and added, “It’s not like I’m going to starve, Dean, don’t worry.”

         “I’m not worried. Rich boy like you, they probably deliver your breakfast every morning on a silver tray.”

         “Gold, actually,” Cas joked. He was smiling that warm smile again. “Dean, since you won’t let me pay properly in actual money, would you accept an offer of time together instead? Could we go surfing tomorrow?”

         “Yeah.” The reply came easily, without any thinking at all. “I’m free after one. Meet you at my tower.”

          “I’ll see you then.”

    As Cas hopped in his Jeep, backed out of the garage carefully (flashing Dean a thumbs-up when his brakes made no noise at all), and drove away, Dean found himself in a strangely aimless mood. He looked over the rusting truck parked in the shop, but without the new engine parts Bobby was supposedly out getting, he couldn’t make any progress. Instead, he rode home, his head feeling unusually quiet, not unlike the sensation of working on Baby. That was weird. That was very weird, Dean told himself as he stole past the Study Monster to get dinner going.

    Catching the occasional glance at Sam over the stove as he made up a pot of potatoes to boil, Dean found it equally bizarre that he wasn’t worried about his brother finding out his plans for tomorrow. Maybe it was because he knew Sam was so deep in zombie-state that he didn’t really care about anything that wasn’t school right now.

    Or maybe it was that he just didn’t care so much about keeping up this charade anymore. Dean shuddered to admit it, but it might be true. He _did_ kind of like Cas, he _was_ looking forward to seeing him tomorrow, and really, what did it matter if Sam knew? It didn’t make sense at all, but there it was. It actually felt kind of…good. He threw a couple of pork chops in a pan and watched them sizzle.

    Dinner was on the table soon after (or more accurately, balanced wherever he could find a spare inch), with Dean actually sitting down to eat in hopes of encouraging Sam to do the same. It took him ten minutes to coax Sam into pausing long enough for one bite, but after that, the geek practically inhaled the food, cleaning his plate before Dean even had time to start on his chop. Ego satisfied, Dean cleaned up the kitchen, left Sam to do his thing, and bypassed both the TV and the garage in favor of relaxing in his room with his iPod.

    Floating on his bed, eye closed, Aerosmith blaring, Dean felt calmer than he had in ages. Which again, was weird, because _why?_ But really, who was Dean to look a gift horse in the mouth? The bad shit always seemed to come out of nowhere, it was only fair that sometimes the good shit would come too. With that thought, he merely shrugged and settled back further onto his pillow, happy to doze away the rest of the evening.

 

    Dean biked down to the smoothie shop before work the next morning. Sam wouldn’t be there, but he had overslept a little and was groggy and in dangerous need of sustenance. The place was deserted. Leaning over the counter, Dean hollered, “Gabe! Feed me!” and was astonished when the person who came out of the back was decidedly _not_ Gabriel, but a stunning, long-legged woman staring him up and down like she didn’t like him touching the counter.

            “Uhhh, hey?” Smooth, Dean, real smooth. He dropped from the counter and tried a cute smile. “I mean, hey. How’re you doing? I’m Dean and you’d better be working here now, because you are much easier on the eyes than my brother.”

The woman looked spectacularly unimpressed. Dean couldn’t blame her. _God,_ but he was out of practice.

           “Jess,” she finally responded. “And yeah, it’s my first week here, but they’ve already warned me about _you_ , Dean.” It was playful, light, but left no room for doubt: she was definitely not interested.

Dean shrugged. Frankly, he was already a little embarrassed by his own behavior.

…Was he actually maturing or was he really just that far out of the game?

Fortunately both parties were saved from having to salvage the conversation by the arrival of Gabriel.

          “Dean-o. You got any money today, or am I going to have to pay my employees in coffee stirrers and a live show of me kicking your ass?”

          “Peanut butter and chocolate, Gabe, go heavy on the protein. See, I don’t need my pimp around to take care of me, I’m a girl who likes to make her _own_ way.”

Jess rolled her eyes, but a smile twitched at the corner of her lip as she accepted Dean’s cash and handed over the change.

          “Oh, I’m sure,” Gabriel answered sarcastically. He started up a blender and yelled to be heard over the noise. “Moose say anything to you about meeting up at the bar tonight?”

          “No!” Dean yelled back, surprised and a little hurt that again, Sam had thought to bring shit up to his boss before his brother. Then he remembered what day it was. “But it’s the end of finals week! Yeah, ‘course the geek wants to party, we always have a big night out when the semester’s over.”

          “Then I look forward to you buying me a few rounds to make up for you two swindling me this past year.” Gabriel finished pouring the shake and handed it to Dean with a suggestive wink.

          “Not even in your dreams, Gabe.” Dean sipped at his drink and turned to Jess. “You coming tonight?”

She folded her arms and raised one eyebrow.

          “Are you asking me to go with you?”

Dean ignored Gabe’s snort and mentally cursed himself for having even attempted to put on the ‘how-you-doin’ routine at all before explaining.

         “Look, it’s not like that and I’m sorry for making it seem like it was. We’re a “the more the merrier” kind of group and I’m sure Sam would be happy if you stopped by. Ash’s place?”

Jess thought it over for a minute before nodding.

          “Sounds fun. I’ll try to make it.” She smiled with genuine feeling and Dean knew they were okay. He was also suddenly reminded of someone _else_ who communicated whole emotions and words with just smiling, who did it better than anyone else he knew actually, and remembered his afternoon plans. Time to go, time to start doing something, anything.

         “Catch you guys tonight.”

 

    Dean thought he was doing pretty well up until the last fifteen minutes or so of his shift. All morning, he busied himself with lots of jogs up and down the beach (until Benny hollered at him to cool it), push-ups in the sand (he set out to do sets of thirty to further distract himself, but quickly lost count), and a hyper-vigilant watch on all visitors (which resulted in more than one kid crying to their parents because “the mean lifeguard yelled at me for playing in the water”). But not even the barrage of mom-glares thrown his way could touch the nervous energy thrumming through him. It was stupid to be this worked up over nothing, Dean told himself, they were just hanging out. He hung out with dudes all the time. Never with dudes who seriously flirted with him, true, but….but _what,_ he seemed to keep losing his train of thought. He glanced at his watch again – one o’ clock exactly – and heard a now-familiar voice call, “Hello, Dean” from below.

            He hopped down from the tower, and before he could even think about it, tore off his tank. Wow. Okay, could he _be_ any more eager?

            “Hey Cas.”

            Was it his imagination or did Cas’ eyes dip down to his chest, just once? He was totally imagining it….probably….but why? Cas himself was also ready to go, wearing just his blue trunks, so at any rate, he felt a little less weird about ripping his shirt off as a hello.

Cas held his board in one arm and gestured toward Dean’s, leaning up against the tower.

           “This is yours?”

           “Yeah. We can’t all afford a gorgeous CI, but she’s been good to me.” Dean picked up the item in question and led Cas out to the water.

           “My board is my most prized possession, it’s true. I’d sooner lose my Jeep than lose it.”

           “See, I knew deep down, you really do have good taste and a sense of priorities.”

They paddled out a good distance until Cas stopped and sat back on his board.

          “I’ll take this first wave, and you take the next one, okay?”

          “Okay,” Dean agreed easily, and that was the last either spoke for a few hours. Just like before, Dean was so awed by Cas’ natural talent and skill that he would probably be rendered speechless anyway, but somehow, the need for words wasn’t there with the two of them out together. Sometimes they alternated, watching the other, and sometimes they didn’t, but every decision seemed to occur to both at the same time. Their instincts for the waves were eerily similar, Dean realized, though Cas still out-did him at nearly every turn. But just by watching, he felt himself picking up on Cas’ tricks, adjusting his stance and his board, angling his body just slightly while he rode. It wasn’t rough-housing fun like with Sam, or anything like the nerve-wracking intensity that riding by himself had become. It just felt…right. Natural. Normal, even, and Dean could hardly believe he’d ever been apprehensive because the idea of _not_ doing this again, as often as possible, was really stupid.

He wondered if Cas felt the same way. The sun was getting pretty low in the sky, but the waves were also getting really sweet, and Cas didn’t seem interested in slowing down, so Dean took that as an encouraging sign. He felt like he could do this forever.

Only the faint traces of sunlight left on the water remained when Cas finally threw himself chest-down on his board and sighed deeply.

          “I absolutely cannot go again, Dean,” he ground out, eyes closed and voice rough from lack of use, and despite his own tiredness, Dean felt a spark of heat deep in his belly at the sight and sound of the man before him. _What the hell?_ Suddenly he was much more awake, and actively working to drive this very un-expected, very _un_ -welcome arousal out of his body.

          “Yeah, we should head in,” he responded quickly, already beginning to paddle back. Cas followed, more slowly, and laid out flat on his back once they climbed up the shore to Dean’s tower.

          “I don’t remember ever having such a good time,” Cas said sleepily, and Dean looked over to him in surprise.

          “Me neither.”

          “We should do it again.”

Dean dragged his phone out of his bag. Somehow, it was seven-thirty.

          “Okay. Yeah. We should.”

 He had three missed calls, one from Charlie, and two from Sam. Groaning in dismay, he  jabbed at Sam’s number and waited impatiently for him to pick up.

          “Dean! Where the hell are you, man, we miss you!” The background noise was so loud, Dean could barely make out his brother’s sloppy speech. The bar. He smacked himself in the face and glanced over at Cas again.

          “I fucked up, dude, sorry, I’ve been at the beach the whole time. You guys at Ash’s?”

          “Hell yeah, we’re all at Ash’s, Charlie and Gabe and me and Ash and Bobby -”

           “I don’t need a role call, Sam, thanks. I’m on my way, okay, I’ll be there soon. Don’t have too much fun without me.”

           “Toooooooo late, Dean, we have all the fun, you are missing out.” Sam hiccupped and apparently set his phone down somewhere because he stopped speaking, but didn’t hang up.

           “Sam? Sam?!” Dean rolled his eyes and hung up himself. “Crazy-ass.”

Cas opened one eye to look at Dean.

            “You have to go,” he guessed.

            “Looks like it. It’s the end of finals week, we always do a thing. I totally spaced.”

Cas nodded and rolled up into a sitting position. He looked deflated and Dean knew better than to imagine it was just exhaustion.

           “Do you…” he started, then gathered his nerve to actually ask. “Do you want to come with me? It’s just Sam and our friends, and you don’t have to, but I thought that maybe, if you didn’t have anything else to-”

          “Dean. Yes. I do.” Cas turned one of his trademark smiles on him and really, it was kind of worth asking just for that. “I’ll drive.”

 

    The place was swollen to the bursting point that night, packed with college kids celebrating their freedom. Dean glimpsed a streak of red hair heading clear to the back and started to weave his way through the crowd, looking back every few paces to make sure Cas – who looked more interested than overwhelmed – was keeping up. Charlie was setting down a fresh round on a corner table, but Sam wasn’t there.

          “Hey! Where’s the geek of the hour?”

          “Dean!” Charlie wrapped him in a quick hug and handed him a beer. “He’s at the bar. Hendrickson called him this afternoon, he got a perfect score on his final this morning.” She rolled her eyes. “Gabriel and Ash said they’d buy him a shot for every sea worm class he could name. It was pretty cool for a while, but now he’s way too far gone; I think the last one he said was Macarena.”

Cas laughed at that and Charlie seemed to notice him for the first time.

          “Who’s your cute friend, Winchester?” Between the emphasis on ‘cute’ and the wink that was probably meant to be covert, she obviously knew _exactly_ who he was, but Dean was sun-drunk and tired and way, way over playing it cool.

           “This is Cas. It’s his fault we’re late, we were out on the waves.”

           “I’m afraid that’s true. But it’s nice to meet you…?”

           “Charlie. And don’t worry about it, Cas, everyone’s been dying to meet you, Dean’s told us so much about-”

Maybe Dean did have at least an ounce of luck to his name, because thankfully Sam chose that moment to crash into the table sideways, spilling drinks everywhere, followed closely by Gabriel and Ash, who were laughing so hard they leaned on each other for support.

           “Dean, oh man, you missed it.” Ash collapsed in a chair, still giggling. “Your little brother downed three Jaegerbombs in a row and bet anyone who’d listen that he could still do one-armed push-ups on the bar.”

          “He win?” Dean asked, taking a swig of his beer and laughing a little in spite of himself. Sam was always wound so tight, it was great to see him cut lose every now and then, even if he did make an ass of himself doing it.

           “Hell no! I damn near cleaned him out, thank God, because his fat ass cracked my bar when he fell off it!”

           “Actually that fat ass cracked _my_ bar.” Their little corner of the room went quiet at the sound of Ellen’s voice cutting in, authoritative and loud and _pissed_. Ellen crossed her arms over her chest and looked first Dean, then Gabe, then Ash all over. Ugh, the Disappointed Mom face. Dean backed himself and Cas closer to the edge of the circle; he hadn’t even done anything. Sam was sprawled out in a chair, grinning, hair and shirt damp, and seemingly oblivious to what was going on. Ellen nodded at him.

          “I’m cutting Sam off. I’ll overlook the damages, Dean, if you keep him from doing anything else stupid. I know you wanna have a good time, but you all behave yourselves, or I’ll make you wish you had. And who’s this?”

          “I’m Cas. Um, ma’am,” Cas added quietly, clearly expecting his own chewing-out.

          “Do I look like I run a brothel?” Ellen snorted and shook her head at the mess Sam had made. “Ash, get this cleaned up. Keep an eye out, Cas, if you’re gonna run with _this_ crowd.” She vanished back into the crowd, Ash reluctantly following after. As soon as she was gone, Gabriel sided up to Cas and slung an arm around his shoulder.

          “It’s the Cas-man! What brings you out tonight, pal?”

          “Dean invited me. I hope that’s alright.”

          “ ’Course it is! But Dean, how dare you leave your guest empty-handed! Run and go fetch him a drink, we’ll keep him company while you’re gone.” Gabe steered Cas into an empty chair and plopped down beside him. Charlie immediately dragged her own chair closer, the two of them effectively caging Cas into the corner, but Gabriel kept shooing Dean away until he had to choice but to wrangle his way to the bar.

Not in the least convinced that Cas even drank, he ordered two beers from a very subdued Ash – Ellen was hovering fiercely – and rushed back to save him. It looked like his worry was unfounded: Cas’ expression was bright and open as he sat flanked by Gabe, Charlie, a glassy-eyed Sam who seemed to keep forgetting how to sit up-right, and now Bobby, all of whom were laughing. Dean dragged a chair up next to Bobby, both nodding in greeting, and passed one of the beers over to Cas, who accepted it with a quiet “thank you.”

Charlie wiped her eyes and took a long drink of her cocktail.

          “And here I thought no one ever had any fun at military school. Do you have any siblings, Cas? Preferably any cute sisters?”

          “I have _six_ older brothers and sisters,” Cas announced with relish. “Michael, Balthazar, Anna, Uriel, Muriel, and Hael.”

          “Woah! Looks like you got off easy,” Gabe slapped at his knee. “I guess? I mean, _Cas?”_

          “I was named after the angel of Thursday, Castiel. But I like Cas much better, it was a nickname my parents detested.” Dean nodded, seeing another piece of the puzzle that was Cas fit together. “Besides, you have a biblical name as well, Gabriel the archangel and messenger. Although I don’t know what message you may have been sent to deliver onto us. Short men carry massive egos?”

Everyone howled with laughter, except for Gabe, who looked torn between feeling insulted and proud.

          “Better watch yourself, Cassie, it’d be a shame if some mysterious secret ingredient were to wind up in your smoothie next time.”

          “Apologies.” Cas smiled wryly.

         “So Cas, were your parents of the hardcore Christian militia type, with like, no stem cell research, masturbation is a sin, and all that?” Sam slurred out. Dean shot him a warning look that was apparently hilarious because his brother only giggled, but Cas didn’t bat an eye.

         “Certainly. Also, no taking the Lord’s name in vain, or speaking at the dinner table, or dating until age sixteen. And yes, sleeping with both hands above the covers was strictly enforced. Sometimes with straps, Balthazar was always somewhat…rebellious.”

Bobby chuckled.

         “And yet, you seemed to’ve turned out alright, boy. A little shaky on car maintenance, is all.”

          “I don’t think my parents ever bought a tank of gas or changed a tire in their lives,” Cas said fondly. “Much less visited a garage and hung around mechanics. Excuse me.” He got up and carefully wound through the crowd to the men’s room.

All at once four sets of eyes went straight to Dean as everyone tried to talk at the same time.

         “Dean, he’s a dream, hold onto him five-ever!” Charlie swooned.

          “He’s funny! Actually funny!” Gabe cried, like he still couldn’t really believe it.

          “Didn’t I _tell_ you guys?!” Sam was smug and way too loud.

          “He’s a nice kid,” Bobby broke in. “Dean, you be good to him, you hear? Don’t let this one get away.”

Dean waved his bottle to shut everybody up.

          “I get it, he’s great, okay? He’s kind of a weirdo, but he’s a good guy.”

         “And you spent all day with him, didn’t you, Dean?” Charlie was thrilled. “Two guys, out knocking around on the ocean, laying out in the sun-”

         “Does _this_ guy seem like the Hallmark movie type?” Gabriel asked, gesturing to Dean. “He probably spent the day – _ahem_ – correcting Cas’ lack of education from his utterly sexless upbringing, if you know what I mean.”

The group laughed again and Dean flushed hotly and hurriedly drank down the rest of his beer to distract from the urge to punch Gabe into jelly. The memory of Cas lying out on the waves, vulnerable and open and bathed in sunlight, still burned heavy in his mind.

          “You don’t have to pass off all _your_ desires on me, Gabe, everyone can see right through that,” he growled in a low, dangerous voice.

Gabriel just rolled his eyes and made to leave the circle.

         “Pretty drafty there in that closet, is it Dean? _I_ don’t have anything to hide. C’mon, geezer.” He jabbed his pointed chin at Bobby. “What say you and me leave the drama queens behind so I can annihilate you on the pool table.”

         “Mmm-hmm, because you’re such a spring chicken yourself.”

Bobby clapped his hand on Dean’s shoulder as he left and gave him a warning look. Dean held his hands up in compliance. He really had no intention of starting a fight tonight. At that moment, Cas returned and slipped into Bobby’s empty chair, beside Dean.

         “Anyway,” Charlie continued as if nothing had happened. “Cas, are you seeing anyone?”

Dean struggled to keep from reacting. His friends were out to kill him tonight. That’s all there was to it.

          “No,” Cas answered simply, but Dean noticed a firmness to his voice he hadn’t heard before. Maybe he didn’t like people meddling in his romantic life either. Cheered by the thought, Dean mentally aligned himself with Cas, the two of them against the annoying, nosy world.

         “Speaking of, Sammy, what happened to Jess? Thought she was gonna swing by tonight.”

Sam groaned from the floor, where he had finally given up the battle of trying to sit like a human.

          “I dunno, man, she said she wanted to come.” He sighed heavily, releasing a long shuddering breath, and to Dean’s horror, his eyes went glassy with tears. “Do you think she HATES me? She’s so pretty and nice and smart, and I’m just this loser who doesn’t do anything except study. She’s a _good person_! Where’d Gabe go? I should give her my hours, she deserves them more, I don’t even like making smoothies, there’s too much chopping and the noise is like ARGHHSSSSSSSH!” Sam did a sloppy impersonation of a blender and Charlie bit her lip in laughter. Cas looked questioningly at Dean, who made up his mind that the celebration was a bust.

          “Yeah, I hate that too, man.” He kneeled on the floor to get an arm under Sam’s shoulder and waved Cas over to help. “C’mon. Let’s go.”

Together, they got Sam upright, but tottering, and Dean knew they need to move fast before the inevitable next collapse. He hooked his other arm around his brother’s waist and steered the trio toward the exit.

         “Later, Charlie,” he called over his shoulder.

         “You are a _good person,_ Dean!” she called back, perpetually amused by the Winchester antics.

It was a laborious process, trying to navigate the congestion while holding onto Sam (who kept pitching forward, threatening to face-plant), but eventually they broke free into the night. Cas got them out to the Jeep and together, he and Dean shoved Sam inside. He didn’t really fit, with Dean’s bike commanding most of the space, but he didn’t seem to mind. Jess forgotten, he leaned forward into the front seat through the space between Dean and Cas and hummed along to the radio.

          “No puking in here,” Dean said sternly, which earned him full-fledged singing in response, his moose of a brother somehow knowing an entire Beyonce chorus. _That_ was a question for another day, he told himself, settling deep into his seat, amazed at how quickly the day had fallen apart. “I, uh…sorry, Cas. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

          “That’s alright. Where exactly do you live?”

          “Turn left at the next road and follow it down. Thanks, by the way.”

           “It’s not a problem. Thank you for inviting me out, anyway.”

The next few minutes were filled with Sam’s screeching about grinding on surfboards (seriously, how the hell did he know this song? Also, what the fuck did that even mean?), off-key and long past the actual line until the song ended.

            “Sorry my bro’s such a drag right now, Cassiel,” he put in conversationally.

            “I don’t think he’s a drag at all, Sam,” Cas answered placidly. Dean grunted, in indifference or thanks, he wasn’t sure which.

            “He’s just been through a lot of shit, you know, with Mom dying and Dad beating us up when we were little, and then Dad died and he had to step up to being the adult and there was the thing with the kid at the beach-”

            “SAM!” Dean was too horrified to even start the usual damage control. It was all he could do to keep from throwing himself out of the car, just to escape from what was coming next, the part where _he_ had to start admitting things, watching as Cas took in the entirety of his fucked-up-ness and ran. But Sam wasn’t done yet.

            “I mean, he’s my brother and I love him, but that makes for some serious damaged goods. He doesn’t even have sex anymore! And he tries to play it off like he’s all cool and aloof and shit, but I think he probably just can’t get it up since he almost died.”

           “Sam, shut up!” There was nothing Dean could think to say to make this better. There was no making this better. He was well and truly fucked, gripping the sides of his seat until his knuckles burned, stare locked on the dashboard to keep from looking at Cas’ face. There would be no more blissful surfing, it was over.

            “That’s us on the left, with the white front patch. Perch. Porch-thingie,” Sam pointed cheerfully.

Cas pulled to a stop in the driveway and Dean dove out as fast as possible to start unloading his board, bike, and brother. Cas helped, leaning the bike up against the porch and following behind with the board as Dean wrangled Sam up the steps and through the front door. Dean more or less shoved his brother up the second set of stairs, into his chaotic bedroom, where he promptly tripped over a pair of shoes and fell to the floor, giggling. Dean quickly closed the door and turned to find himself face-to-face with Cas.

         “I left your board next to the couch.” Cas’ voice sounded rough again. Because he was exhausted, Dean reminded himself. He’d had a long day of putting up with Dean and his assorted bullshit, a crappy night at the bar (was it his first night out?), and an earful of the _darkest_ shit from a drunken Sam, and now he was tired and done with all this. Dean swallowed hard. This was him saying good-bye.

          “Thanks.” He was stalling, suddenly, for more time. “Sam’ll be alright, he just has to sleep it off.”

          “That’s good.” Cas had a habit of staring a little too long, he noticed then, standing a little too close, never far from Dean’s shoulder or chair or board whenever they were together. For some reason, despite his upbringing, it seemed no one had ever told him it was weird. Or maybe he just didn’t do it to everyone.

          “And about the stuff Sam said…” Dean trailed off, still having no idea how to fix what his brother had done.

          “Dean. It’s okay. I’m glad he told me. I _want_ to know. I want to know you.”

Dean laughed humorlessly.

          “Well, that’s the worst of me. Now you know. Sure you don’t want to head for the hills?” He said it carelessly, as if the answer couldn’t mean less. It shouldn’t mean anything.

Cas caught his gaze, which had been bouncing from here to there, focusing on the blank walls, the faded carpet, the car keys in Cas’ hand, anything at all. Somehow, unbelievably, the warmth was still there in those blue, _blue_ eyes.

          “I want to see you again, Dean Winchester. As soon as I can.”

          “Me too. Yeah.” The relief welling up in Dean came so quickly he felt a little light-headed. There was a minor crashing sound from within Sam’s room and an accompanying groan of pain, but they both ignored it.

          “Text me tomorrow.”

         “I actually think texting is kind of stupid. I’ve been meaning to tell you.” The light-headed feeling made him want to tell the truth.

          “Call me, then.” It was a command, and for a moment, Dean could see his military background bleeding through. On quiet, easy-going Cas, it was _awesome_ , in a way he was yet afraid to identify. Sam was snoring now, chain-sawing away as he only did outside of the school year, when sleep was careless and true.

         “I will.”

          “Good bye, Dean.”

 

Dean was frying eggs by the time Sam appeared late next morning, still in yesterday’s clothes and hair looking like he’d spent the night in a mosh pit. He sank heavily into his usual spot at the table and moaned loudly.

          “Yeah yeah, you are one pathetic fucker.” Dean ripped open a package of bacon with a lot more force than was strictly necessary and threw some into the pan.

           “Okay, you’re pissed,” Sam guessed, voiced muffled as he hadn’t bothered to lift his head from the table. “At me. Let’s hear it then, what’d I do.”

           “Oh, I don’t know Sam, maybe you just fell off the bar and got Ellen on everyone’s case. Or maybe you started _crying_ because Jess didn’t come and me and Cas had to haul your ass out. Or maybe, just _maybe_ …” Dean inhaled sharply, nerves going raw with the memory. “You went and blabbed to Cas about Dad and the beach and fucking everything else!”

Sam had been staring open-mouthed and flinched as the source of Dean’s true anger hit him. Closing his eyes, he let his head fall back down on the table with a dull thump.

          “Fuck. Shit.”

Dean silently turned the bacon and crammed a few slices of bread in the toaster.

           “I’m so sorry. Dean. I’m so goddamn sorry, I’d never _ever_ want to… _fuck_. What did Cas say? Should I try to talk to him or would that make it worse?”

           “I think you’ve done enough,” Dean said coolly, and Sam groaned again, gripping his head with both hands.

Dean waited until all the food was done and piled on a plate, which he took to the opposite end of the table and began munching on, before speaking again.

           “It’s gonna be okay,” he finally answered. “You fucked up, but Cas was cool with it.”

Sam released a long, wavering sigh of relief.

            “You know, you could have opened with that, you friggin’ jerk. Like, ‘Hey Sam, somehow it’s alright, but you did spill the beans to Cas last night when you were hammered.’”

           “You did it though, had to suffer at least a little.”

           “Speaking of suffer, you just had to go and stink up the place with that greasy food, didn’t you?” Sam frowned and paled a little, the effects of last night clearly catching up to him again. Dean responded by moving to the chair closest to his brother and giving his next bite a long, loving look before shoving it in his mouth and chewing as loud and obnoxiously as possible.

           “You are so _gross!”_ Sam jumped out of his seat and ran to the kitchen sink where he gagged for a minute. When nothing came up, he ran some water over the back of his head instead and mopped at it with a dishtowel. Towel pressed to his neck, he looked at Dean curiously.

            “Actually, you’re taking this a lot better than I’d expect. Did something else happen? What were you even doing all day? Weren’t you with Cas?”

At _that_ memory, the surf and sun, the promise of more, Dean bent his head lower to hide a smile. Maybe he wasn’t quite done punishing Sam yet.

            “Yep.” Finished eating, he deposited the dirty dishes in the sink under Sam, grabbed his bag, and sailed out the front door without another a word, leaving his brother standing baffled in the kitchen.

 

    Bobby didn’t actually say much of anything all day, beyond a press at Sam’s state and the necessary orders like “Pass over that wrench,” but he also didn’t leave Dean’s side for more than a few minutes at a time, and kept chuckling to himself for no reason and looking Dean over like he was _proud_ of him or something. While he appreciated that Bobby wasn’t ever one to pry, it was still a reasonably annoying way to get through the day, and Dean was surprised, but not at all unhappy when Charlie pulled up late in the afternoon.

            “Get in loser, we’re going shopping.”

Dean spared her an apathetic look before passing off his tools to a still-hovering Bobby (“That it then?” “Good-BYE, Bobby”), stowing his bike, and swinging up into the cab.

            “More like you need to grill me about last night. Save it, Charlie, there’s nothing to tell.”

She waved her hand impatiently and started as if he hadn’t spoken.

           “So I would _hope_ that I don’t have to tell you by now that Cas definitely likes you.”

            “Yeah, I got that.”

           “As in, big homo crush, mano-a-mano. And you’re okay with that?”

Dean slumped in his seat and knocked at the window with his knuckles.

           “I guess I am,” he finally admitted. “I mean, sure. It doesn’t really change anything for me, I still wanna hang out with him. He’s still a goddamn genius.”

           “Well, that’s shiny then.” Charlie seemed satisfied. At least she didn’t ask him anything else for the rest of the ride and trip through the grocery store, which turned out to be an expectedly good means of encouraging Dean to talk. Before long he found himself rambling on and _on_ about the awesomeness of the day before, Charlie listening attentively as she went about restocking her usual cache of energy drinks, cartoon-shaped macaroni, and potato chips. They were loading the stuff into her truck before he realized he hadn’t bought a single thing himself. Whatever, he and Sam had survived well enough on take-out before and could do it again if they had to.

           “Are you going to see him again?” Charlie finally asked as they climbed back inside.

           “Definitely. He said to call, actually; even if he secretly hates my guts, he’s probably dying to get out of the damn house and away from _Aunt Naomi.”_

           “Naomi?” Charlie gave him a weird look. “As in Naomi Grey?”

           “I have no idea, dude, as in Naomi, Boss Lady of the Religious Assholes.”

           “I went out on a house call at this huge mansion for a Naomi a few months ago! Wifi was down; stupid simple fix, just had to renew her IP address, but she was a Boss Lady of the Religious Assholes for sure. She was chillier than winter on Hoth and had all this religious crap all over the house, I called her Say-No-Mi to remember to never get assigned back there again.”

          “Huh. Okay, so that’s a weird coincidence, but I should care why?”

          “Dude! How many richy rich ladies named Naomi can there be in this town?” Charlie was excited now, and Dean doubted this boded well for him, a suspicion confirmed when she breezed past the turn to their neighborhood with a slightly manic tilt to her expression.

          “Charlie, what the hell?”

          “Keep your shirt on, Winchester, we’re just going to do a drive-by is all.”

For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, Dean seriously considered throwing himself from a moving vehicle.

 

    Naomi lived in the outer ring of town, in one of the nicer neighborhoods. Dean felt a pit in the bottom of his stomach that seemed to grow with every minute as they bypassed houses that became progressively bigger and fancier. Finally Charlie called, “That one!” and pointed at the biggest one yet, a behemoth looming at the end of the street. Dean groaned and Charlie shrieked delightedly: there was no mistaking the blue Jeep parked at the very top of the expansive driveway.

          “Alright, congrats, it’s the same place, what are we even _doing_ here, Charlie?”

          “Checking to make sure Cas is at home and not out on a hot date on Saturday night? Mentally cataloguing the best street to go trick-or-treating? Fantasizing about the old lady kicking the bucket and leaving the place to your future husband, where you will invite your best friend over for long weekends? D, all of the above?”

           “Do you even hear the crap that comes out of your mouth sometimes?” Dean stared up at the tall building, with its manicured lawn and crisp paint. No doubt someone was paid to come vacuum all the sand out of the carpet and do the laundry. The only thing out of place was the Jeep, which made him feel better somehow. Long windows broke up both levels of the house, but dark curtains prevented him from seeing anything inside.

Porch lights snapped on suddenly and the front door started to pull open.

          “Damn!” The engine roared back to life as Charlie restarted and backed up into a lower, neighboring driveway before hightailing it out of the street.

          “That was so stupid!” Dean fumed as Charlie started to laugh again. “Acting like goddamn teenagers, and for what? So we can stalk Cas?”

          “Oh shut up, you’re just pissed because you’re afraid your man almost caught us.”

          “More like afraid the police are gonna come after us, rich assholes don’t mess around.”

          “When did you turn into such a _baby,_ that was fun!”

Dean was so busy glowering for the rest of the ride home, that he didn’t even notice the vibrating in his pocket until it was too late. Pulling out his phone, he saw that he’d missed a call from Cas.

Looking over at the screen, Charlie’s face lit up with joy.

           “Oooooh! Aren’t you gonna call him back? Call him, call him, call him!”

Dean ignored her chant and tucked his phone away again.

           “Like hell I’m making that call with _you_ listening in.”

           “Oh c’mon Dean, don’t tell me you actually want to keep aspects of your personal life to yourself, surrender all your privacy to me!”

           “Later, Charlie.” He bailed out and collected his bike, throwing back a careless wave over his shoulder. When she honked the horn and wailed, “Nooooo, I don’t want to miss all the fluff!” he amended the wave to a cheerful middle finger and headed for the garage as Charlie gave one last huff and drove away.

The phone in his hand seemed weirdly threatening and dangerous, and in that moment he was reminded of his prom date again (what the hell was her name? Lauren, Linda…?), the sheer terror of calling to ask somebody out. But no, he told himself, that was dumb. This wasn’t like that at all, this was just calling to confirm hanging out with Cas. No big deal. He jabbed at Cas’ number and waited.

          “Hello, Dean.” Cas picked up almost immediately.

          “Hey, Cas. Sorry I missed your call.”

          “I’m sorry I _had_ to call, wasn’t that supposed to be your job?”

Dean grinned, strangely thrilled.

           “Gotta have some mercy on us working folks, takes time out of the day, contributing to society and all.”

           “I suppose that’s true enough. I trust you won’t be so busy working tomorrow that you’ll have time to spare with a burden on society like me?”

           “Yeah, I got time for a trust fund baby, so long as you’re driving. Haul that ugly-ass Jeep over here about noon?”

           “I’ll be there.”

It was on the tip of Dean’s tongue then to admit he’d been by Cas’ house just a little while ago, that he’d seen firsthand now how he lived, before dashing away from that fancy neighborhood in a rusty truck. Part of him wanted to confess to that and more, now that he knew for sure they didn’t even live on the same planet, but instead he just said, “Good. See you then” and hung up before Cas had even finished his good-bye.

The house was too quiet as he wandered in. He called for Sam once, then saw the note stuck to the fridge: “Went out with my lab group.” Hopefully the geek squad wouldn’t go so hard, anyway. Dean rummaged around in the cupboard for a minute before coming up with a can of ravioli, which he dumped in a bowl and popped in the microwave. Watching the numbers count down steadily, he wondered what Cas had eaten for dinner. Probably he’d never had canned ravioli in his life, a thought that Dean couldn’t seem to shake as he downed the lukewarm pasta in front of the TV and eventually ambled off to bed.

 

    Dean knew he shouldn’t have been surprised when he heard knocking at the front door at noon exactly, but his half-baked state gave him away. Toothbrush in his mouth, shoes nowhere to be found, board seeming to take up the whole living room from where he’d laid it on the coffee table for a quick wax, he wasn’t really at his most suave to greet Cas, who looked as composed as ever. Of course.

          “You gotta be so damn punctual?” He said with as much fire as he could muster around a mouthful of toothpaste.

          “Military school. You know what they say about old habits.” Cas wandered through the living room, looking over everything with interest as Dean flew up and down the stairs (trying not to wake up Sam, who’d gotten in sometime between two and four in the morning. So much for nerds not knowing how to party).

          “Go the way of Bruce Willis, yeah, I know.” Dean finally skidded to a stop by the front door, board in hand. Cas’ face was lined with confusion, and Dean realized the reference had flown right over his head.

           “Wow, we have _got_ to get some culture in you, dude. Project for another day though, let’s hit the waves.”

 

    The afternoon progressed just as easily as on Friday, maybe even more so now that Dean knew that it was good for Cas too, so to speak. The dorky little guy, in his neon green trunks and even tan (now that he knew Dean hated his clothes, he seemed more confident than ever wearing them, defiant little shit), flopped back on his board after a few hours, prompting Dean to do the same. The two bobbed up and down over the water, side by side. The absolute _calm_ of the day, the way everything they did seemed to come together without any effort at all was lulling Dean into a deep sense of security, so much so that he was totally unprepared when Cas picked up the ax and sank it home.

          “I’m sorry about your father.”

Dean, who’d had his eyes closed against the bright glare of the sun, inhaled sharply and looked over at Cas’ still figure. There was no pity in his voice, none of the forced kindness he’d quickly grown tired of in neighbors and coworkers after John’s death. Cas wasn’t one of Sam’s classmate’s moms, dropping off a casserole without making eye contact, and he wasn’t some hot chick, trying to take him home from the bar after whispering with Gabriel or Ash. But then, Dean knew Cas wasn’t talking about his orphan status.

          “Forget it. Wasn’t that bad.”

          “But Sam said he beat you. When you were _children.”_

          “C’mon Cas, your dad was a Navy dude and a religious nut, don’t tell me you just skated through childhood untouched.”

But Cas was silent, and Dean felt the rift separating them deepen another few inches. When he spoke again, it was a little too fast, like he had to get the words out before it was too late.

           “After Mom died, he did his best. He did. Was he Father of the Year material? Hell no. But he tried, and we turned out alright, and yeah, things were tough after he kicked it too, but at least-” He took a long, shaky breath, poised to end it right there. He couldn’t look at Cas now, to know if it was the right thing to do, just did it anyway. “At least we _got_ a chance to be better than alright. Sam’s good now, going to school, set to graduate and be a professional geek. I don’t have to protect him anymore. I can just _be_ there for him, like how family’s supposed to be. We got through it all and came out stronger, just like Dad always wanted, I guess.”

Cas slowly sat back up, legs crossed, chin resting on his fists. He looked at Dean for a long moment, but in a way that didn’t feel quite natural for its intensity and depth. It was like Cas was staring right into his freakin’ _soul_. He squirmed, wishing they were back on land so he could look away at anything else. Or run.“You defend your father because you think you deserved to be hurt.”

Dean blinked, thrown.

          “What?”

          “You think you deserved what happened to you. You don’t grant yourself the same immunity you give to Sam because you find yourself at blame. It wasn’t your fault, Dean. You were a child too. You did nothing wrong.”

         “That’s not…I don’t…” Dean wasn’t sure what was happening, but his instincts were to shut it all down. This was forbidden territory, they shouldn’t be here at all, and if Cas wasn’t smart enough to get out now, he’d just have to chase him off. No one else could be allowed to be dragged down here too. He scowled, voice hard and poisonous.

          “What the fuck do you know, Cas? You can’t just spew that shit on people, when you don’t even understand anything about anything! You had it so goddamn _easy_ , you can’t know what it’s like to have to be there for your family like that, it’s just…fuck it. I’m out.”

He turned his board and headed for shore as fast as possible. Cas didn’t say anything or make any move to follow him, and when he finally tore up the side of the beach, sand sticking to his legs and bare feet, shoes in hand, he looked over his shoulder just once, briefly, and saw Cas still floating alone far out in the ocean.

 

Dean didn’t feel like going to Bobby’s, didn’t feel like working on the Impala or doing anything at all. The house was way too dangerous: it held his phone and his brother, leaving the garage the only spot to fume and think. He absently spilled the contents of boxes and made piles of tools and parts with the vague purpose of reorganizing, but he doubted he was getting very far.

Cas’ words were stubbornly vivid in his mind. He’d never heard anyone suggest such a stupid fucking thing before, and yet some tiny part of his brain was trying to make sense of it. Why _was_ it that Sam needed to be protected and he didn’t?

He threw down a handful of wrenches angrily, cursing himself for forgetting. Because he was the big brother. It was his _job_ to make sure Sammy was okay, and if that meant taking the brunt of the bad shit, so be it. He wasn’t going to break or anything.

But still, _why?_

Dean probably would have driven himself crazy with that line of impossible thinking if Sam hadn’t shown up then, raising an eyebrow at the mess.

          “You okay?

          “Peachy, Sam, just dandy.” He turned away and tossed an empty oil can over his shoulder in the general direction of the garbage pile.

          “No, you’re not.” Sam picked up the can and the rest of the pile and deposited it all in the big black trash bin. “What’s wrong?”

          “The money tree’s only dropping tens today.”

          “Dean. Tell me.”

Dean sighed and let his act fall apart for Sam, his baby brother who he knew could handle this brand of crap and who was, after all, smarter than he’d ever be.

          “Don’t you think Dad did all the stuff he did because we deserved it?”

          “Of course not.” Sam looked startled by the question, alarmed even. “We were kids and he was an abusive asshole, what could we have done to deserve _that?”_

Dean didn’t answer, didn’t have an answer actually, and never did have, he realized. Not a real answer anyway, just a general feeling of _acceptance,_ of not knowing anything else to accept.

          “Dad was horrible to us, Dean, don’t try to deny it to me. But that wasn’t our fault. I know I’m still never getting you to talk to somebody about all this, but didn’t you at least read any of the books Ellen brought over when he died?”

          “You really need to ask me that?” He could feel Sam rolling his eyes at him, though he still hadn’t turned around.

          “It wouldn’t hurt you to actually do some ‘book learning’ once in a while, so you don’t beat yourself up for ten years over shit you had no control over. The first part of healing is acknowledging that something is wrong, admitting that you need to heal. Dad’s dead, and he’s never coming back. You don’t have to be the tough guy for him anymore.”

It was quiet in the garage while Dean tried to mull this over. It seemed much too simple to be true, and he couldn’t really wrap his head around it yet. But Cas and Sam coming together in agreement seemed important somehow, gave the words more weight.

          “Why d’you have to go and be a girl about everything, Samantha?”

Sam ignored the jab, picking up on the more important implication that his brother was okay.

          “How’d this get brought up anyway? Was it Cas? Did he say something?”

          “Kinda,” Dean admitted.

          “And then you flipped and ran away from anything resembling feeling things or connecting with people,” Sam guessed, crossing his arms and leaning against the Impala in a world-weary kind of way. “You should call him. Apologize.”

         “You want me to _apologize?_ For freakin’ what?!”

          “For being a dick.” Dean opened his mouth to dispute this, but Sam just held up a hand to silence him. “I’ve known you my whole life. I can tell when you’ve been a dick, and Cas doesn’t need to put up with that, not when he was just trying to help.”

Dean ran a fingernail along the edge of the Impala’s windshield.

          “Why isn’t it any fun at all being mad at Cas?”

           “Because he was right and he likes you too much. And you don’t really mind that either, right? Big homo crush?”

Dean just stared, open-mouthed and eyebrows raised, demanding an explanation.

           “Charlie said it, not me. You have got to get a damn Twitter, Dean.”

 

This time Dean didn’t hesitate before pressing Cas’ number. Sam had promised to stay upstairs to give him some privacy and he’d already worked out what to say.

          “Hello?” Cas sounded anxious and upset. Great. It really _was_ no fun staying mad at him.

           “Hey, Cas.”

          “Dean, I was debating whether or not to call you. I’m sorry. You were right, I don’t understand your life at all and I shouldn’t have tried to act like I do. I apologize for overstepping your boundaries, and I am honored you chose to share so much of your past with me. I can understand if you don’t wish to see me again, but I promise not to pry if you do.”

Clearly Cas had also planned out his apology, just much more eloquently than anything Dean could hope to come up with. He let out a breath of relief and dropped his piece anyway.

          “It’s okay, Cas. People don’t usually get in this deep with me and I freaked a little. You weren’t out of line, I was just being a jerk. And ‘course I wanna hang out again, we were having an awesome time before, right?”

          “Yes.” Cas’ voice was soft then, like he was confessing to something.

          “Good. Sorry for running.”

          “I stayed for an hour. I thought you would come back. I’ve never been ditched before.”

          “Hurts, huh?”

          “Yes. Don’t ever do it again.”

Dean laughed and glanced at his board, leaning up by the front door.

          “What d’you say we try again tomorrow? Come by after my shift.”

          “I’ll be there.” Cas paused for a moment. “Dean, are we okay then? I haven’t had many friends, I hope you can forgive me if my people skills are somewhat lacking.”

           “Yeah, Cas, we’re cool.” As he said it, Dean knew it was true. Cas was weird and sheltered and intense and even girlier than Sam, and by rights, he should still be pissed at him for getting involved in this crap, but somehow he wasn’t. He just wanted to go back to how things were before. “We’re cool.”

 

          “You don’t even have to get on it every day if you don’t want, and judging by your track record with Facebook, I’m guessing every day _is_ a little excessive for you.” Jo looked up from where she sat cross-legged in the shade of Dean’s tower like there was something in this to be ashamed of. “It’s just an easy way to keep up with what people are saying and doing.”

          “You mean what _Sam and Charlie_ are saying to people, about me.”

          “Well, yeah.”

Dean snorted and leaned back against the tall wooden structure. He couldn’t keep watch on both the water and the parking lot at the same time, and it was making him restless. Making up with Cas had been so easy it was kind of anxiety-inducing: what if he was still upset and didn’t show?

           “All I’m saying is that getting an account is not going to turn you into some kind of social media monster, and you might even have fun with it. What are you all fidgety for, anyway?”

          “Dunno. Just looking forward to seeing him, I guess.”

Jo smiled happily and drew her knees up to her chest.

          “Mom liked him because he didn’t break anything or start a fight with anybody. Some pretty low standards in your friendship circle.”

          “Shut up.”

          “But then I guess he’s not really a _friend,_ per se, is he?” Jo’s expression was a questioning one, but Dean was far from interested in trying to explain the answer. If he even could.

          “Not out to label anything, we’re just two people hanging out.”

          “Uh huh. You know, if you’re not sure, you could try being two people _going_ out, but that would require you to – oh. Hey!”

Jo stopped short and Dean turned around quickly to find Cas standing right at his elbow.

           “Jesus, you could give a man a heart attack sneaking up like that!”

           “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to interrupt your conversation.”

           “It’s okay, I gotta go anyway.” Jo stood up and brushed the sand from her legs. “You two have fun!” Winking covertly at Dean, she jogged off down the beach, leaving him to steer Cas out into the water before he could think too hard about what Cas might have heard.

Thankfully, he didn’t bring it up.

           “I like it better here today. Fewer people.”

           “Yeah, gets kind of nuts Friday to Sunday, mostly with families.”

           “It’s wonderful that you don’t have to work here on the weekends.”

           “Heh, yeah.” Dean dropped his head to hide the shiver that ran through him suddenly. There was no need to explain that one. No need to bring up that Benny had taken him off all the weekend shifts, the crowds and potential for disaster proving to be just too much. “Tell you what, next time we’ll hit up a place nobody else knows about, it’ll be just you and me.”

           “Really?” Cas’ face was almost embarrassing in his appreciation, like Dean had offered to take him to Maui or something. “You would share that with me?”

           “C’mon Cas. Yes, you. Now let’s get going, daylight’s a burning.”

 

Dean was sweaty and aching and slightly dazed with hunger and too much sun by the time they quit, but _laughing_ out loud with Cas as they slid their boards up on the roof of the Jeep.

           “Cas!” He gasped and tried again, giggling too hard to get the words out. “You’re a goddamn liar. There ain’t no way a grown man accidentally winds up browsing an adult video store for half hour because you didn’t know it was a porn store!”

           “I didn’t!” Cas was laughing just as hard, and damn if it wasn’t a gorgeous thing to see. The corners of his eyes crinkled and his forever chapped lips were wide around his perfect, white teeth. He collapsed in the driver’s seat, still bent on defending himself. “I missed the sign going in, I just saw ‘video rentals’ and got excited that I was finally going to see _Star Wars_. I even asked for it at the counter! They dug up _Porn Wars_ for me, and that’s when I realized something probably wasn’t right, but some of the titles seemed legitimate so I just thought I hadn’t found the right department yet. I asked for the young adult section, and that’s when they told me to leave.”

           “You fuckin’ DID NOT!” Dean couldn’t even breathe anymore, the (hilarious, sheltered, _awesome_ ) dork was killing him. “Cas, that’s the dumbest story I’ve ever heard in my life. And probably the best.”

            “I promise you, I really didn’t know any better. I’m glad my lack of life experience can bring you such joy.”

             “Anyway,” Dean finally sobered up a little as the house came into sight. The day had gone by way too fast. “If you really want _Star Wars,_ you should come in, stay a while. Sam and me have them all on Blu-ray, Charlie was at kind of a loss for presents last Christmas.”

Cas’ smile said it all, but he answered anyway.

          “I would like that very much.”

They thumped up the stairs and in through the living room, which was uncharacteristically, almost spotlessly clean. Dean gazed around in wonder, taking in the bare coffee table, clean floors, gleaming walls, and clear window glass. Even the cushions on the threadbare couch looked more cozy and inviting. Just as he was about to call the cops on reverse-robbers, which wasn’t even a real thing, but whatever, a deeply unappealing smell from the kitchen hit him, and Sam stepped out looking surprised but happy.

          “Hey Cas, how’re you?”

          “Very well Sam, thank you. Whatever you’re cooking smells delicious.”

Dean reeled back, positive Cas was just being his usual polite self. But no, he was following Sam to the oven, breathing in deeply as Sam pulled something out and the wet garbage aroma intensified.

           “Thanks. It’s a casserole with mushrooms, eggplant, red and green peppers, lentils, and quinoa. Sit down and eat with us, there’s lots.”

           “Hell yeah there is, because there’s no way I’m putting that in my mouth,” Dean announced, but he sat down beside Cas anyway, eyeing the gigantic salad already on the table. Since when did they even have a salad bowl?

            “Just ignore my brother, he’s practically allergic to any kind of healthy activity, like eating food that can’t be bought at a gas station.” Sam heaped casserole on Cas’ plate and pushed the salad bowl at him.

            “C’mon, this kind of shit is just wrong. There’s no good reason to eat thirty different vegetables in one sitting, where’s the _meat?”_

            “There’s protein in the lentils and quinoa and the nuts in the salad,” Sam said patiently, doling out the grayish slop to Dean and himself now.

            “Well, this is just awesome, you’re gonna scare away Cas with your freaky non-food. Sorry buddy, I promised you Han Solo kicking ass, and instead you get Jabba the Hut carcass for dinner.”

            “Actually, I think it’s very good.” Cas was working steadily through salad and casserole like he was indeed enjoying both, so either he was so courteous he’d eat old newspaper if it was on his plate (which would probably taste better anyway, Dean reflected, choking down a piece of eggplant) or he did actually like this crap, in which case, Dean really should be calling it all off now. Sam was bad enough. “Thank you, Sam.”

            “Hey, it’s just nice having someone around who appreciates it.” Sam shot his brother a pointed look.

            “I _appreciate_ things, okay, the house looks great. Maybe we should switch: you do the domestic stuff and I’ll go to school.”

            “Dean, you barely made it through the eighth grade because you had to do monthly book reports; I’m not sure you could, you know, _survive_ bio lab three times a week.”

            “You see the kind of crap I have to put up with, Cas? I cook and I clean 364 days of the year and this is the thanks I get.”

           “Maybe you’re just jealous that I do such a good job when I have the time.” Sam waved his fork airily at Dean. “Speaking of, Hendrickson called me today, he wants me to start early next week, before summer semester starts. And he said he’d take a lot of my books from spring, which is what made me start cleaning up in the first place.”

           “Great.” Dean couldn’t help himself. He knew he was supposed to be happy for his brother, but the reminder that Sam would be back in school soon, inside, wearing a lab coat and cutting up squishy things instead of enjoying the summer with him left a sour taste in his mouth that he couldn’t blame on the food. He realized that Sam and Cas were both staring at him, wearing similar expressions of concern, and mentally shook himself. “I mean, yeah, awesome, now I don’t have to trip over a freakin’ library every time I cross the kitchen.”

Dean stood up then and brought his still mostly full plate to the sink. Time to get the evening back on track.

          “What say we get started on the original trilogy and leave Natalie Portman for a rainy day?” He kneeled by the TV stand and tore open the plastic still encasing the box set.

Cas was hovering between the kitchen and the living room, still holding his plate, like he couldn’t decide what to do with it.

          “Throw that in the sink, Cas,” Sam directed, flopping on one end of the couch. “Do we really look like the kind of guys who clean up right after a meal?” He looked around for a minute, reconsidering. “Well, I guess _today_ we do, but that’s serious fluke.”

           “Yep, next time you come over you’re getting the family treatment: we don’t put on no airs, what you see is what you get.” Dean dropped down on the other end of the couch and slapped the empty spot in the middle, beckoning over Cas, who settled in happily.

          “My siblings and I were never allowed to watch movies that weren’t church-approved. And we rarely did anything together anyway,” he mused, watching the opening text scroll across the screen. “It’s also nice being in a home where you can actually touch things, my parents’ house is more of a museum. You’d never find a dish anywhere but on the table or in a cabinet.”

          “Damn, dude, I don’t know how you put up with all that.” Dean was trying hard not to notice how close Cas was sitting. They weren’t quite touching, but they almost were, the warmth of Cas’ thigh a nearly tangible weight against his own leg every few exhales. It was incredibly distracting, but both Cas and (thankfully) Sam seemed oblivious, fixated only on the movie.

          “I read a lot, and then surfed a lot, to escape,” Cas answered absently. “I fantasized too, that someday I’d be able to run away from it all, be able to do what I wanted. Have real friends, a real life.”

   Dean couldn’t think of a single thing to say to that, but Cas didn’t seem to be expecting anything. The three sat without speaking for a long time, Cas and Sam laughing at all the right parts, watching the action scenes intently. It could have been any other night with any of their other friends, at least from the outside looking in, but Dean couldn’t concentrate. Cas was so _close,_ and it was frustrating in a way he was having trouble comprehending. On one hand, it was freakin’ weird of course, but on the other…it actually felt kind of good. Cas was warm and relaxed, the slight pressure against Dean’s hip and leg that came when Cas shifted a soothing one. He even smelled good, a combination of sea salt and fresh soap, with an undertone of something that reminded Dean of the chick section of the shampoo aisle, but even that worked on Cas, which struck Dean as kind of unfair as he knew he had to be a hot, sweaty mess after being out all day.

He tried to raise his right arm furtively to take a sniff, but Sam chose that moment to get up and he let it fall back against the couch, feeling self-conscious all of a sudden. Sam came back with three beers and distributed them, Dean gratefully accepting his, Cas handing his back immediately.

          “Sorry, no thanks. I don’t actually like the taste.”

Dean rolled his eyes.

          “You should have told me before, I would have got you something else at the bar. What’s your poison? Whiskey? Tequila? You a straight vodka man?”

          “I like red wine. And I’ve had champagne with Meg, and something else once I really enjoyed, but I don’t remember the name. It had cranberry juice. Collins? Cosmic?”

Dean and Sam groaned together as if on cue, Sam dissolving into laughter after, Dean fighting an urge to punch Cas for having the guts to both love girl drinks and to own up to it.

Dad would have hated this guy, he realized.

          “I should throw you out now, for coming to my house and asking for a _cosmo.”_

          “They taste good,” Cas said sincerely. Always with the honesty.

Dad was dead, Dean. He needed to remember that more often.

The movie ended and he got up wordlessly to put on the next one. Again, they watched in silence, Dean having finally relaxed enough to enjoy himself, until Sam heaved himself to his feet and yawned broadly.

          “I’m turning in, guys.”

          “What, and miss ‘Luke, I am your father’?” Dean found himself nervous suddenly at the prospect of being left alone with Cas. As if they hadn’t spent the whole day and a good chunk of the one before on their own, but something in the intimacy of having Cas on his couch had him on edge.

          “Well, now that you’ve spoiled the end for Cas…” Sam stretched his arms out overhead as he headed for the stairs. “Night.”

          “Good night, Sam.” Cas hadn’t taken his eyes off the screen, hadn’t appeared to hear Dean even.

Dean glanced at the empty space left by his brother and hoped to heaven and hell that Cas would take the hint and be a normal person for once.

   But why would he move? Big homo crush, right? He probably _was_ doing this on purpose, probably wanted to be as close as he could to Dean. And as for Dean himself…wasn’t he enjoying it a few minutes ago? Didn’t it feel good sitting next to someone who wanted to get closer? He tried to remember the last time he’d been in a spot like this, watching a movie with a girl and hoping the night would lead to something else, but that was ages ago now, high school probably. Cas wasn’t an upperclass girl, but the anticipation felt the same.

Hold up there, Winchester, just what are we _anticipating?_

   Cas licked his dry lips suddenly, like he knew somehow that Dean need a shove either way: back further into the side of the couch and away from the touch, or deeper into the vague longing that was forming in the back of his head, an interest in those full, pink lips, slick with saliva, and all at once it was no contest. Dude or not, that mouth was too pretty to ignore.

   Dean needed to stop staring, ASAP, and whipped his gaze back to the movie, but they _could_ be watching _Porn Wars_ for all he cared, it was hard to focus on anything at all but the way his heart seemed to be going way too fast and, shit, Cas was so close it seemed crazy that he couldn’t hear it too. But no, maybe he could, because he was standing up then and Dean felt panic building up as Cas walked slowly across the living room and turned back, smiling, and Dean realized he was just shaking out his legs after sitting so long. Because they had sat through two movies. Which were now over. Because the credits were rolling. Which meant Cas was leaving now.

           “I loved that. They were even better than I expected, and what a great twist, with Luke and Darth Vader.”

          “Awesome, right?” Dean stood up too and walked over. Maybe if he acted normally, he could trick his brain into thinking normally. Yeah, solid plan. “Can’t believe you made it through your whole life without anybody spoiling _that_ one.”

          “Thank you, Dean. For today. I had a wonderful time.”

          “Uh, yeah, me too.”

Cas was standing by the door, close enough to open the handle and leave, and close enough to reach out to Dean. He did neither, just stood there on the clean carpet, smoothing out the pockets on today’s tacky board shorts (a vintage-y floral print).

Dean’s plan was not working. His brain had stopped doing anything at all except watching Cas, and his mouth seemed very dry, too dry to get any words out.

          “I….” he tried, and swallowed hard. Cas seemed to be waiting for something from him, but he couldn’t command enough brain activity to figure out _what,_ and so he finally sighed and stumbled on a default phrase somewhere. “I’ll call you.”

         “Alright.” Cas looked disappointed; his brow furrowed slightly and his pink lips were a tight line. He turned the handle and stepped outside. “Good night, Dean.”

         “Night, Cas.”

As Cas disappeared into the dark and then away into the night in his Jeep, Dean scrubbed at his face in annoyance and headed for what he knew would be a restless night’s sleep. What the hell was all _that_ about?

 

    Feeling a little bit guilty about missing two days to play in the surf, Dean headed straight for the auto shop after his shift the next day. Besides, he was dire need of work, of the mind numbing that came from messing with car parts. After several frustrating hours, though, it became clear that no project in the world was consuming enough to drive thoughts of Cas and his lips, Cas and his strong thighs, Cas and his laugh, Cas and his girly scent, Cas and his let down expression from Dean’s head.

He hadn’t really meant to start whacking at the hood of the rusted up truck that still sat parked in the shop, but the damn thing was so crusty and old he couldn’t even get it open on the third try. And yeah, he should have exercised a little patience, but somehow the crowbar in his hand seemed much better suited for hitting right then, and the noise and resulting dent was so goddamn satisfying that he just had to do it again. And again. And again, until Bobby finally showed up, pissed right off.

           “Hey, knock it off!” Bobby grabbed the bar out of his hand and used it to gesture at the damage. “You wanna tell me what the big idea is, going all Hulk-smash?”

           “No,” Dean spit out, ashamed, and feeling even worse. The last thing he needed right now was an ass-chewing-out, circa elementary school.

           “Uh nuh, we ain’t doing this again, boy. I’m not havin’ any of this game where we dance around your precious feelings cus you can’t admit that there’s something bothering you. Drop your ass down on that bucket.”

Dean dropped, reluctantly.

          “Now spill it.”

Dean groaned and rolled his eyes back as far as they would go, feeling trapped and exposed.

           “I got all day, Dean, don’t be testing me.”

He buried his head in his hands, the feeling of vulnerability slightly lessened when he couldn’t actually see Bobby, and forced it out in as few words as possible.

           “I think I pissed Cas off and I don’t even know why. We hung out all day yesterday and it was awesome and then he just left, and he’s never been like that.”

When he looked up, Bobby was tapping the crowbar against his leg in an exasperated kind of way.

           “Don’t tell me you went ape-shit on the truck because you’re having issues with your boy again.”

Dean couldn’t see any answer that wasn’t a confirmation or a lie, so he said nothing.

           “Do I really gotta spell it out for you? It ain’t rocket science, Dean, if you like Cas and wanna keep him around, you got to talk to him. None of this actin’ like a scared little kid. Man up and tell it like it is.”

Bobby handed back the bar.

           “But first, put the hood back right; no more taking out your feelings on crap you’re supposed to be fixing. I’ll save all the demolition work for when you two get to really fighting, and you can raise hell then.”

 

    Taking out all the dents wasn’t nearly as satisfying as putting them in, so Dean found himself still itching to tinker with something by the time he got home. Sam wasn’t there, and no note either. Another night with Baby then.

    He set out to go over her cooling system, but after just a few minutes, he realized there was nothing left to work on. He checked the fan blades and all the gaskets next. And the engine, which he knew so well by now he could tell just by touch if something was amiss, which it wasn’t. He had oil and antifreeze and washer fluid. He found himself reduced to wiping down dust from the headlights, a kind of tingling excitement building in his fingertips.

   Finally, Dean sat in the driver’s seat, both hands on the steering wheel, steadying himself. It seemed impossible that today could finally be the day, but if nothing else, he was confident in his work. He sat for a few more minutes, til he couldn’t stand it any longer and drove the key into the ignition.

Baby roared to life and vibrated underneath him, awaiting further instruction.

          “Son of a _bitch!”_

Dean stomped on the gas, hard, and they went flying out of the garage, turning way too sharp at the end of the driveway and soaring away down the street. He couldn’t wipe the dopey grin from his face; his Baby was big and loud and heavy and _perfect_ , better than he could have ever imagined. The sun was setting and he drove down by the waterside, watching the light scatter over the waves and breathing in deep the salty air that was whipping through the open windows, savoring the windblown feeling.

This was _it_. For the first time in months, Dean felt back in control. He could go anywhere right then, and nothing and nobody could stop him, not even his memories could keep up with Baby. She was invincible. He was invincible, could have set the whole world ablaze and swam out to live a new life on the sea. Once again, he actually felt like a real person.

The heady sensation of _existing_ within the world gave him confidence. His decisions seemed to have more weight with the proof that he could accomplish something fantastic, and so he didn’t think twice once the idea came to mind, just set off to do it.

Cas’ neighborhood wasn’t so threatening now. With a cocky pull to his lips, Dean shot straight up the lengthy driveway – Baby growling like she’d been waiting all these years just for this – and parked right next to the Jeep, staring down the mansion face-to-face. He reached for his phone.

          “Dean?”

          “Come outside, Cas. Got something to show you.”

He hung up and waited. Soon enough, the porch lights flashed on and Cas came out the front door, bare-foot and in pajama pants. Dean could see his blue eyes go wide as he took in Baby, touching her fender before coming around to open the passenger’s side door (which squeaked; he’d have to get on that later).

          “Didn’t I tell you, that you were gonna eat your heart out?” Dean started backing down the drive, slowly at first to give Cas a chance to protest, then faster when it appeared his first passenger was willing to go along for the ride.

           “It’s beautiful, Dean. I may not know much about cars, but I can tell you’ve done an incredible job.” Cas looked around suddenly at the houses of his neighborhood sailing past. “How, um, do you know where I live?”

          “Oh, right. Charlie. Long story.” Dean tried to arrange his face into a guilty expression, but he was having way too much fun now to worry about anything. “She’s awesome, isn’t she? My Baby finally gets to spread her wings and _fly!_ Now I can come and get you instead, leave that candy-colored nightmare at home.”

          “So you _do_ wish to see me again?” There was an edge to Cas’ voice, a weird one that reminded Dean all at once of his face the night before, but when he glanced over, Cas was looking ahead at the road without any emotion at all.

          “ ‘Course I do. We’ve been having a great time, you bet your ass I want to keep hanging out. Why wouldn’t I?”

          “Just checking in, I suppose.”

Dean drove in silence for a few long minutes, no real destination in mind and the excitement of the evening fading slightly. Cas’ hands rested on the soft cotton of his pajama pants. They looked strong, capable, and every inch as fascinating the impassive face above them.

Dean coughed and grappled deep in his head for some more _words_ to fill the quiet.

         “So anyway, you should come back over soon, finish the trilogy. _Return of the Jedi_ kicks ass.”

         “Yes, that’s what April said. I look forward to it.”

         “Who’s April?”

         “I met her today at the supermarket. She helped me pick out some vegetables. I’d never done it before, I set out to recreate Sam’s casserole.”

          “Oh.” Dean felt something in his jaw click and realized he’d been grinding his teeth. He resettled his grip on the steering wheel. “She cute, then?”

          “Yes, I guess she was. That’s what she wrote on the paper she gave me, incidentally; ‘You’re cute. Make dinner for me sometime?’ and then her phone number. She was very nice.”

Dean was drawing a blank now. Cas was clearly inexperienced and almost definitely needed a push in the right direction, but somehow, the tail-chasing side of Dean’s brain was not down to play tonight. He knew it was the right thing to do, encouraging Cas to go after Produce Chick, because friends had each other’s backs like that. Jo’s voice circled back through his head, asking again and again: was Cas really just a new friend?

Dean briefly imagined coaching Cas before a date with some faceless woman, the way he did for Sam when he first got started, and felt his stomach twist in on itself and something hot rise up from his chest, all the way through his throat and up behind his eyes, blinding him with its intensity. He blinked rapidly. Okay. Not a friend then.

          “You gonna ask her out?”

           “I don’t know. Do you think I should?” Cas looked at Dean now, his face open again.

Dean waited a long moment before answering, gathering himself to keep from spitting out the fire that still lingered.

           “I dunno man, seems like maybe she just wants you for a meal ticket.” He tried for an easy-going grin, and must have succeeded because Cas smiled back sheepishly.

           “In that case, she would be very disappointed. I burnt my casserole to a crisp, all the smoke alarms went off and our cook yelled at me for twenty minutes.”

Dean laughed, all the fire safely stomped away. He felt overconfident and happy again.

            “Probably for the best, I still say that crap couldn’t legally be called food.”

They had been coasting down by the water again, the waves powerful and huge in the dim moonlight. Dean pulled into an empty parking lot to watch them crash into the dusky shore.

            “Let’s hit up my secret spot tomorrow, k?”

            “Yes, Dean.”

Cas was leaning forward a little, eyes on the waves coming in, hands clasped between his knees. He looked like a hunter or something. Hungry.

Dean shivered. He’d never imagined he could find someone who looked at the ocean the same way he did. He’d never imagined he’d find _anything_ to take his gaze away from the waves. He started Baby up again.

          “Guess it’s time I took you back now.”

Cas’ forehead lined with reluctance, but he nodded and leaned back into the seat.

          “The water’s not really going anywhere. It will still be there tomorrow for us.”

          “Ain’t that the coolest thing in the world?”

          “It is.” When Cas smiled then it felt like a reward and a promise and something dangerous all at once. Dean threw Baby into gear and they all flew off into the night.

 

    Dean couldn’t be sure if his impatience the next morning came from wanting to see Cas again or just wanting to drive Baby, but after dropping Sam off at work (“You were right, she was worth the wait”) and settling in at his own job, the hours seemed to crawl by. Even a shark scare did little to break up the monotony of sitting and staring at nothing, although Dean always found a certain perverse entertainment in watching tourists freak. Nevermind that he’d never actually seen a shark in real life himself, it was just damn funny teaming up with Jo to get all serious and purposeful, telling parents to carry their toddlers up the sand because “I saw a Great White catch thirty feet up this beach last season, ma’am” and laughing their asses off when Benny got stuck debunking their crap.

    Finally it was time to head for the parking lot and get a real start on the day. Baby gleamed, all shiny black, looking tough and intimidating against all the lesser cars. She held up his board proudly, which Dean checked again before climbing in and setting off for Rich Bastard Town.

Cas must have been watching for him, because he was out the front door as soon as Baby was parked, carrying his board and a big plastic bag. Dean helped him tie the beauty up top and they were off.

Cas held up the bag.

         “I made lunch, as we seem to be in the habit of not eating all day long when we do this.”

Dean, who had been humming along with the music – he’d kept around all John’s old cassettes just for this – found he couldn’t let the opportunity to rag on Cas pass by.

          “Uh huh, like I’m trusting _your_ cooking after Casserole 2.0.”

          “It’s sandwiches, Dean! No cooking involved, although I would be happy to eat them all myself and leave you to starve, if that’s how you feel.”

          “Hah! Charity boy like you, you couldn’t live with yourself.”

          “No! Well….okay, you may have a point. But you certainly wouldn’t get any of the cookies.”

They kept up the loose, easy banter the whole ride over. Dean wondered if Cas was as eager as he was, excited to be doing something new and fun together. He was a little nervous too. He hadn’t been to this side of the beach in years, the winding, uphill road too far to navigate on a bike. He’d never taken anyone but Sam here either. Cruising back over the blank, green landscape with Cas was a little like being naked, and reminded him of the car ride after the bar.

Openness.

Dean spotted a huge, familiar cluster of ragged trees and shrubs tangled up together and pulled to the side of the road.

         “We’re here.”

He led the way, walking carefully down through the branches over a faded path, slowing further when it started to slope downward and eventually spit them out to a deserted beach. And it truly was deserted, Dean looking all around to confirm that they were the only people here and that it was the right place: a hidden ridge of smooth sand, cornered on one end by the tree patch and the other by a jagged cliff. It was just as he’d remembered it – wild and secluded and beautiful.

Cas dropped his things and walked around staring with wide eyes.

         “This place is like a dream,” he whispered. “How did you ever find it?”

         “Got lucky, I guess, just stumbled on it when me and Sam were out on a drive in Dad’s old truck.” Dean’s normal speaking voice sounded too loud and out of place and he shrugged self-consciously. “The waves are rougher here, but I figured if anybody could handle that, it’d be you.”

         “Let’s get out there, then.”

Dean’s memory turned out to be right, and they couldn’t go as hard here as at the public beach, but it was much more satisfying tackling fewer, more demanding waves, especially without having to work around anyone else in the water. After less than an hour, they stopped to rest, paddling closer to the water’s edge to listen to the constant roar of the tide.

          “I love it here,” Cas said reverently, kicking off a piece of seaweed before sliding off his board to stretch in the warmer water of the shore.

Dean followed suit, wincing slightly at the sharp rocks embedded in the ocean floor.

          “Damn straight, this place is awesome. We should freakin’ _live_ here.”

          “Build a hut and spear fish? Dig for clams?” Cas smiled playfully. “Surf year-round and succumb to hypothermia in the winter, or get eaten by sharks?”

          “Dude, we had to clear the beach today at work, somebody totally thought they saw a shark. No one ever does, but it’s a good way to get out of working for a while, and you get to mess with tourists. Like, ‘Sir, I’m going to need you to evacuate the water immediately, there’s reports of a fifteen-footer in the area.’” Dean put on his no-nonsense face and started herding Cas up toward the sand.

Cas made a face that was equal parts disapproval and amusement and let himself be herded.

          “You shouldn’t say things like that to people who don’t know any better, Dean, you’ll scare them.”

          “You _should_ be scared, buddy. Back in ’05, I saw an animal half this size take down a man twice your size, wasn’t nothing left but a scrap of hideous fabric to identify the body.” Dean grabbed at the pocket of Cas’ board shorts; today’s model was black with pink flowers and palm trees.

           “You can’t possibly tell these things to real people, I don’t believe you for a moment.” Cas was very close now, still held fast by Dean’s grip, close enough for Dean to notice he was breathing faster, eyes darting up to hold his gaze and then down to the lower end of his face.

           “Oh, you better believe it.” Without his realizing it, Dean’s voice was lower now, smoother, totally at odds with the bullshit he was still spinning. “The sharks around these parts are mean sons-a-bitches, they’ll rip you to shreds.”

Cas didn’t seem to be really listening anymore. His eyes were unfocused now, his pink lips parted. Dean wondered why he was just getting closer and dimly noticed he was still holding onto his shorts. The wet fabric was thin and pliable in his hand, Cas’ breath was hitching slightly on his neck, and just as Dean was considering what he should do about all of this, the smooth, hard edge of a fucking shark rammed into the back of his knees.

Dean crashed into Cas, knocking them both off-balance, panic surging through him as he looked around frantically for the shark. But then Cas was laughing, almost hysterically, holding his stomach in, and Dean looked down at his own surfboard, nudging him gently.

          “You have got to be kidding me.”

Cas just _giggled_ and gasped, trying to get the words out.

            “You scared yourself with all that shark talk, didn’t you? It was only your _surfboard!”_ And he was gone again, clear blue eyes glassy with tears, the crinkles around them deep and genuine.

His laughter was so pure and gorgeous that Dean didn’t have long to dwell on embarrassment, just went straight to enjoying the moment with this incredible being out in the water with him.

          “What, you think that’s funny, huh?” Dean grinned wickedly. “I’ll show you funny.”

He tackled Cas, lifting him up from behind his knees and shoulders, bridal-style. Cas only laughed harder, encouraging Dean to swing around the lithe, pliant form in his arms and throw him down into the shore. The water was shallow enough here that he could kneel on either side of Cas’ waist, pinning his wrists above his head, Cas’ body slick and shiny from being just barely above water. He’d finally stopped laughing and looked up at Dean with a hopeful expression, not moving at all in his grip.

Dean blinked and came back into himself suddenly. He released Cas and scrambled backwards, slipping a few times on the sand before managing to get to his feet.

          “Ummm. Sorry.”

He offered a hand up to Cas, who didn’t look uncomfortable at all. Or apprehensive or even disappointed like before, just strangely curious.

         “Dean…” he started, but Dean was high-tailing it up the beach.

         “Let’s eat something.”

Cas followed after, slowly, and knelt to pull out thick ham and turkey sandwiches, bottles of fruit juice, and a heavy bakery box of chocolate chip cookies from the plastic bag. He sat down a little distance from Dean, looking out at the water vacantly.

They ate in silence. Dean was trying to catch his head up on the events of the last little while, figuring out exactly where things had gone wrong. The prickly, creeping sensation that came from being wrong was over him, telling him it was his job to say something first, to try to fix this.

He wanted to ask Cas what he’d done wrong, but when he finally opened his mouth, all that came out was, “My bad.”

Cas looked at him in irritation.

           “What is it that you’re apologizing for?”

           “I dunno, being too, what would you call it, _forward,_ I guess? I don’t know what I’m doing, where all that came from.”

Cas’ hands were curling up in fists and when he spoke again, it was with barely controlled rage.

          “You don’t know?”

The part of Dean that thought it was good idea to jump on Cas in the water also thought this new tone to his low voice was pretty hot, actually.

         “No? Look, I don’t want you to have a bad time, do you want me to just take you back home?”

         “ _No,_ Dean, I don’t want you to take me home!” All control gone, Cas had surged forward til he was inches away from Dean’s face, an angry flush coloring his cheeks and neck. “I want you to stop doing this ridiculous _thing_ where you make me like you so much and then you act like you’re not interested anymore! I want you to want more from this! I want you to kiss me!”

Dean wanted to leave right then and there to get a neon window decal for Baby that said ‘World’s Biggest Dumbass.’ Of course Cas wanted to do this thing for sure, but now, he realized as sharply as if Cas had actually hit him, he wanted that too. Duh. It seemed so stupidly obvious now. It felt like panicking over losing your phone and someone telling you it was in your hand the whole time. It felt like a whole cubic shit-ton of relief.

There was so much more to think and worry about, but Cas was _right there,_ all furious and red-faced, with his blue eyes and pretty lips, so for the moment there was only one thing he needed to do.

Cas’ lips were even more chapped than usual from the sea water and wind, but so soft and yielding. Dean swallowed his gasp of surprise and pressed harder, apologizing for real now, for not knowing. Cas made little humming sounds and came closer. Dean held his face in one hand, turning him carefully for a better angle, and ran the other through that soft mop of dark hair. He was aware of strong hands on his neck, his shoulders, his back, like Cas couldn’t make up his mind what he needed to feel most, and it was amazingly sexy to push back against that strength, to bite those pillowy lips and hear the resulting deep moan.

When they finally pulled away, Cas looked debauched. His hair stuck up in messy waves and his lips were more red than pink, and swollen. He looked entirely too beautiful to be seen by anyone who wasn’t Dean, and he was eternally thankful they’d chosen today to go to the private beach.

         “You mean to say,” Cas said in a raspy voice, then cleared his throat and tried again. “You mean to say we could have been doing _that_ all this time?”

Dean laughed and traced the edges of Cas’ flush with his thumb.

          “Don’t put all the blame on me, you could have started it up too, you know.”

He pulled at Cas until they were lying down, side by side on the warm sand. Now that he could, he was having a hard time not touching Cas. He held one of his hands in his own and brushed gently at his cheekbones, his chin, the dip of his collarbone. Cas lowered his eyelashes, seeming to enjoy it. For a long time, they just stared at one another, coming together every few minutes to kiss softly, and it was all much more gentle than Dean was used to giving or receiving, but with Cas, it just felt right.

          “I wanna take you on a date,” Dean said eventually.

Cas opened his eyes more fully to consider this.

          “A date?”

          “Yeah, a real date. Where I come pick you up and we go out to eat somewhere and everyone looks at us and knows what we’re doing. Friday. You in?”

          “Yes.” Cas smiled his warm smile, and it burned brighter than ever inside Dean, now that he knew it was just for him. It made him want to do something crazy and brave and special, but for the moment, he settled for just smiling back and hoping that was enough to make Cas want to stay here forever.

The sun had started its descent down into the ocean, which lapped up the shore more urgently than before, closer to where they lay, and Cas pulled himself upright grudgingly.

          “We didn’t actually get to surf much today,” he mused, taking a cookie from the box and nibbling it thoughtfully.

Dean rolled up off his side and snatched his own cookie.

          “Worth it though, I’d say. You know, for the cookies.” He grinned stupidly, and accepted the punch Cas aimed into his arm.

The drive back was torturously short. Dean rolled the windows down and sang along with the music fully now, smiling to himself when Cas started humming, learning chorus lines and guitar riffs. Dean didn’t want to let him go, but guessed he didn’t have any choice, from the way Cas looked up at his house and sighed, began gathering up his things.

         “C’mere,” he said suddenly, reaching for Cas’ wrist and pulling him across the bench seat. Cas came willingly, allowing Dean to nuzzle their faces together for a few seconds before kissing him again. It was warm and wet and over way too soon. Cas stroked his stubbly cheek, murmured “Good bye, Dean,” and he was gone. Despite AC/DC blaring, the inside of Baby felt quiet and empty then.

Dean watched Cas walk up the front steps, board under his arm, and slowly turn the door knob. Then he turned back quickly and waved, breaking into a smile that was more dorky than sexy in its enthusiasm, but even that was beautiful on Cas. Dean raised a hand in acknowledgement, smiling himself. Cas went inside. It was time to leave now.

In spite of having only made the trip once before (and, okay, having no actual sentience), Baby got them back home without a hitch. At least, Dean had to assume it was by her actions alone as he had no memory of driving, just found himself stumbling through the front door and all but running straight into Sam, who deftly stepped out of the way.

         “Hey, whoa, hold up!” Sam caught him by the shoulders and gave him a once-over. “You okay?”

Dean widened his eyes innocently and tried not to let his expression give him away too soon.

         “What, me? Yeah, ‘course, why wouldn’t I be?”

Sam let him go, still eyeing him suspiciously.

         “I don’t know…” he said slowly. “You guys, uh, have a good time today?”

Dean couldn’t help himself from smiling now, and ducked into the kitchen to root around in the fridge.

          “Hell yeah, the best. We got any of that casserole left?”

Sam was on him again at that, slamming the fridge door shut and glaring at his brother furiously.

          “Dean, are you drunk?” He squinted. “Or high?”

          “No!” The game wasn’t any fun if Sammy started to actually worry, and besides, Dean was bursting by now to come clean about the day’s successes. He let himself remember how pissed Cas was before they first kissed, and laughed out loud, causing Sam to look even more distressed.

           “It’s okay, Sam, really.” He held up his hands in a placating gesture and caught his brother’s eye. He felt giddy all of a sudden, and letting the cat out of the bag came easy. “Cas and me are gonna do this thing. As an item, or whatever. We got kind of carried away at the beach and he made me realize that I actually, ya know, _like_ him like that, and then we made out and it was friggin’ awesome and now we’re going out Friday.”

Dean leaned back against the counter, too caught up in the glory of having something _goodgreatamazing_ happen to even notice how Sam was reacting.

           “And I don’t even care if you tell the whole damn world. I’m just fuckin’ stoked about it.”

He didn’t have the chance to keep rambling on like he knew he could have because Sam had him locked in a bear hug, and now he was laughing too.

          “Goddammnit, Dean, didn’t we just talk about this? Stop freaking me out with good news, you asshole!” Sam let go and settled back against the opposite counter. “This really is for real then? You’re not just jerking with Cas’ feelings, you really want to go out with him?”

         “Yeah, I do.” Admitting it wasn’t as terrifying as Dean was expecting, it just felt what he was supposed to be doing. “It’s for real.”

Sam just grinned back at him.

         “Then I’m happy for you guys. I mean, I was hoping that leaving you alone the other night would kick-start something, but better late than never, right?”

         “Damnit, you did that on purpose?! That _sucked,_ we just sat there like freakin’ teenagers who didn’t know we were missing out on something good!”

         “You figured it out though, eventually.” Sam laughed again, sincerely, and Dean felt the bliss in his gut expand, knowing his brother well enough to know he really was happy for them. “And don’t worry, I’m not going to live-tweet your relationship-unfolding anymore, not now that it means something to you. But I can’t promise you won’t get a call from Charlie later.”

 

Dean did get a call from Charlie, or more accurately, a three hour interrogation in which his friend insisted on rehashing every word and action exchanged throughout the whole day, punctuated with lots of little excited-puppy noises. It was exasperating after a while, but kind of fun, sharing his news. His family was excited he wanted to keep Cas around, and for Dean, that sealed the deal. Still, their approval didn’t matter all that much –nothing else in the _world_ mattered all that much – when he finally hung up with Charlie and saw that little text notification on the screen.

 

                **I know you don’t like texting, but your phone is busy, and besides, my aunt doesn’t deserve to hear it when I tell you today was the best day of my life and you are the most incredible, golden person I’ve ever known. Even if you were entirely too slow in determining what your feelings were for me. I can’t wait to see you again, to laugh with you again, to kiss you again. I’m so glad you accepted me into your life, Dean. It’s with you that I truly feel free.**

 

Dean fell asleep clutching his phone under his pillow, almost believing that holding the message in his hand could bring Cas back beside him. His last coherent thought before his mind dissolved into sensations of warm water and soft lips and firm cheekbones was that he should have made this damn date for tomorrow night instead. Two days was a long-ass time.

 

    Of course, the problem with his family being excited for him was that his family wanted to _talk_ about their excitement for him. Dean would have been just fine with passing the day on his own, silently testing the limits of his patience by trying _not_ to think about Cas, but he couldn’t shake off his little community’s interest in the guy in question and the new nature of their relationship.

    Jo ambushed him at work. Dean had only been at his station three minutes before she was by his side, alternating between gushing and riding him about being a _gentleman,_ in a tone that all her mother’s. Which was freaky on several levels.

    Gabriel sent him a picture of an open closet door and a text that just said, **Free at last! Free at last!** Which he had absolutely no desire to respond to, in any form of communication, ever.

    Bobby at least tried for some brand of subtlety, at the beginning of the afternoon. Dean worked steadily through the engine of that same fugly little truck to a soundtrack of the same thinly veiled references to his dad’s and surrogate dad’s early dating screw-ups he’d first heard as a teenager. By evening time, Bobby had stopped pretending that handing Dean a tool every now then counted as ‘working’ and was parked on the over-turned bucket, flat-out telling him what to do the next night.

          “You’re a good kid, just be yourself. The good, the bad, the ugly, whatever. This one ain’t gonna run. And don’t be forgettin’ your manners. And take him someplace ritzy, splurge a little.” Bobby hesitated, leaning back on his bucket. “And Dean? If you take him home, be _careful,_ got it?”

Dean snorted, letting the hood fall shut with a bang and wiping his greasy hands on a rag.

          “Don’t worry, Bobby, we won’t make you raise the baby as your own while we irresponsible kids go on to finish high school and lead successful lives, forgetting all about our little accident.”

          “Don’t sass me, boy, you know full well what I meant!”

          “We already did the sex talk, Bobby, I’m good, okay?”

Some irritating voice in his head broke in suddenly, reminding him of his, well, _inexperience_ here, making him question just how good he really was. It sounded a lot like Gabriel. He shook his head furiously, willing the voice to shut up. There was far from a guarantee of that happening tomorrow night, and even if it did, Dean Winchester could always count on the fact that he did three things in life very, very well: cars, surfing, and sex. Cas may have been a dude, but Dean was pretty damn confident in his abilities, starting to consider things now in greater depth. Just a few different parts, right?

Thinking about Cas and sex in the same sentence made him inhale sharply, heat coiling dangerously through his body. He glanced at his watch, surprised and pleased he’d managed to make it through the whole day, and dug out Baby’s keys from his pocket.

         “Anyway, don’t work too hard here by yourself while I’m busy taking out a babe.”

Bobby huffed, but when he spoke again, it was gruff and heartfelt.

          “I’m happy for ya, son.”

 

Sam was in the kitchen, stirring a pot of chili, when Dean got home. He grunted a hello and went straight to inspecting the food for any trace of something green or soy-based, Sam rolling his eyes all the while. It passed the test though, and the two sat down to eat in front of the TV.

Dean couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but his brother seemed kind of shifty throughout the meal: smirking from time to time for no reason, checking his phone when it hadn’t gone off. It was weird and all, but hell, Dean had been doing some pretty serious hiding himself lately; Sam was entitled to a few secrets. At least up until his phone really did ding in the middle of whatever vapid sitcom they’d been watching and Sam texted back immediately, a wide smile stretched across his mug.

          “What’s got you so damn cheerful?” Dean drawled from his end of the couch.

           “Nothing. God, mind your own business, Deanna.” Sam’s mocking held none of the defensiveness Dean spit when the words were his own. Dean sat up, interested.

           “Seriously, who is it? Jess?”

Sam’s face flickered with pain, just for a split second, then scrunched up into smile again.

           “Ummmmm, yeah?”

Dean knew this routine, had seen it before when Sam’s college acceptance letter had come and on mornings after successful dates: his brother was lying alright, but he _wanted_ to be caught. He settled back into the couch, arms folded, grinning.

          “Okay, what’s up?”

          “What makes you think anything is _up?_ I could be talking to anyone, maybe Jess or Charlie or Jo-”

           “Fine, I’ll bite, who the hell you talking to?”

           “Cas.”

Dean was unprepared for how rattled he felt, how the fun of the moment suddenly was tainted with horrible suspicion.

           “What is that, a joke?”

           “No! It really is Cas!” Sam started laughing, which just made Dean feel worse, anger churning up unexpectedly. “Something happened today.”

           “What _kind_ of something, Sam?!”

           “Oh my God, Dean, calm the hell down! It’s not like that, you freakin’ lunatic! Cas texted me this morning, asking me to go shopping with him.” Sam paused, gauging Dean’s reaction with an amused tilt of his head before continuing. “He wanted to get some nice clothes to wear on your date and thought I could help. That was him just now, thanking me again.”

Dean felt all the anger and worry drain away like a hole had been shot through his brain.

          “Are you serious?”

          “ _Yes_. It was really sweet actually; he’d put something on and then ask if I thought you’d like it, he just wants to look nice for you. We were at the mall most the day.”

New thoughts were bubbling in now, chiefly of the warmth that Cas’ smile always brought, a laughing feeling at the image of Cas dragging Sam around the mall all day for clothes, and a wavy undertone of guilt for making Cas think he needed to dress a certain way for Dean. He resolved to cool it with trashing the board shorts (at least for a little while…) and pulled himself back into the room, where Sam was waiting expectantly.

          “Well,” Dean started, shit-eating grin in place. “Did he end up looking hot?”

          “Yeah, I think you’ll be pretty satisfied. Pervert.”

          “But hey. Sammy. Really, that was cool of you to do.”

          “Happy to help.” Sam snorted, and quickly dissolved into laughter again. “I can’t _believe_ you thought I was trying to go after him!”

          “Shut up!”

          “I mean, wow dude, possessive much? He’s all yours. I just hope he knows what he’s getting himself into.”

 

    If questioned by anyone (mostly Sam), Dean would definitely deny being unable to fall asleep Thursday night. And also walking straight into the coffee table the next morning, lost in thought and bruising his shins. And mistaking a plastic bag blowing across the beach for a runaway dog (thoroughly entertaining a large crowd when he finally caught it). And forgetting to eat lunch. And okay, breakfast too.

It was just hard to concentrate on anything else. He’d never been as eager to see anyone as he was to see Cas.

    Resisting the urge to call him just to make sure this was still happening, Dean busied himself with cleaning up the house. Unfortunately, Sam had done such a through job before that washing a few dirty dishes and straightening up the living room pretty much covered things, and Dean found himself aimlessly wandering through his bedroom.

    This room, the only space that was exclusively his, he put more than a marginal effort into keeping clean. He made his bed every single day. There was nothing on the floors, all his clothes were put away, and his assorted personal items (mostly surf trophies, a few old pictures from when Mary was alive) were neat on his headboard and dresser. He dragged his fingertips over the shuddery surface of his bed and straightened the blankets. He hadn’t changed the sheets in a while, he realized. There was no real reason to, not when he wasn’t even remotely sure about his chances of getting laid, and yet…

    Making the bed again ate up some more of the afternoon, enough that by the time he was finished, it finally made sense to start getting ready. Dean lingered in the shower and shaved, hearing the front door slam as he was finishing up. Figuring it was Sam going out for something, he slung a towel around his waist, went back to his room, and found Charlie sitting cross-legged on his freshly-made bed.

          “I wouldn’t recommend going like that, you might cause a riot, Washboard Abs.”

          “Yeah, and I already get enough of that with my shirt on. What are you doing in here?”

          “I’m here for Sam, gotta get started on our big night of take-out, movies you hate, and speculation on whether or not you’re going to get lucky.”

          “Great, go bug him then, I gotta get ready.”

         “He’s emailing Hendrickson. Besides,” she wove her fingers together and leaned her chin on them, looking up at Dean innocently. “I wanna be here for you primping. We have to savor the moment, you getting ready to take out your man for the first time.”

          “Do you all really have so much _nothing_ going on that you’ve got to follow every single thing I’m doing?” Dean dug through his dresser for a nice pair of jeans and found two contenders.

          “Go with the ones with the fancy pockets, they make your butt look good. And yeahhhhhhh, sorry everyone kind of accidentally ships you two now. In our defense, it’s only because you’re so cute.”

          “Right.”

           “Hey, I would think you’d be grateful I came by! Gay girl, available for consultation on your first big gay date.”

         “It’s not-” Dean started, but Charlie was looking him up and down with a knowing smirk. Groaning, he crossed his arms and dropped his voice so hopefully Sam couldn’t overhear. _“Fine_. Who’s supposed to pay?”

         “You asked him, you pick up the tab.”

         “What do I say when I go get him?”

         “‘Hey hot stuff, ready for an evening of really gay shenanigans?’”

         “Charlie.”

         “C’mon, you know this: ‘You look nice, let’s do this,’ that kind of thing.”

         “What if…” Dean mumbled, crumpling the denim in his hands. “What if it’s weird? Like he decides he doesn’t want to do it anymore.”

         “He won’t, he wanted this too. Dean. Stop stressing, it’s gonna be great, okay? You’re a really cool guy, he’s a really cool guy, there’s no reason this night shouldn’t end with someone getting nailed into the floorboards. Maybe. I don’t know, Cas doesn’t really seem like the guy to put out on a first date.”

         “Yeah, well, I guess that’s for _me_ to find out.” Dean was going through his small collection of not-tshirts, not-oil stained, and not-tanks. He finally settled on a red plaid flannel. It was soft and clean and about as dressed-up as he got.

         “What is that, lumberjack chic? You really know how to go all out, Dean Winchester.”

         “Beat it, Charlie.”

Dean booted his friend from the room and dressed carefully, taking the time to smooth out his collar and pockets. He paused in the bathroom to slap on some cologne and check himself out. Charlie was right. His ass looked awesome. He went downstairs and flopped on the couch to lace up his boots, Charlie and Sam both drifting around the kitchen like vultures.

         “Where you taking him?” Charlie demanded.

          “The Italian place on Broadway.”

          “Good choice, but skip the bread, don’t want to have garlic breath.”

          “That’s a nice place, remember to pull out his chair for him,” Sam put in, then reconsidered, turning to Charlie. “Does he still do that, if Cas is a dude?”

          “I think it’s safe to say it’s a nice, albeit unnecessary gesture, but I haven’t thoroughly perused this year’s gay dating manual.”

          “You know, I am so ready to cancel my subscription to Annoying Sisterly Input now. I’ve got it, okay? Both of you?”

Sam and Charlie traded skeptical looks.

         “Twenty bucks says he freaks and shows up on my doorstep in an hour.”

         “You’re on.”

 

    Not exactly buoyed by his brother and friend’s support, Dean set off for Cas’ place feeling jittery and unsure of himself, a sensation intensified when he finally arrived and realized he had no idea how to get Cas outside. Honking was out of the question; he may not have been the classiest dude around, but he wasn’t that much of a jerk. Calling seemed easy enough. Dean tapped his phone against the window for a minute. Maybe it was _too_ easy, too casual for an actual date. He waited for another few minutes, hoping Cas would just come on his own again.

    Finally, when it became clear that wasn’t going to be the case, Dean sighed, gathered up his courage, and left the safety of Baby to knock on that big, carved wood front door with as much confidence as he could muster. He heard footsteps inside and prayed they were Cas’. No such luck. When the door swung open, the person standing on the other side was not Cas, but a well-dressed woman with a pinched and anxious kind of face. She wasn’t even remotely timid though, and looked Dean over like a fairy-tale queen deciding what to do with an irritating peasant. She looked like somebody you really didn’t want to fuck with.

          “You must be Cas’ Aunt Naomi. I’m Dean.” Maybe making the first move would give him better footing, Dean decided, staring down this cold, unflinching old lady.

          “Oh yes. The mechanic.” Her tone was as crisp and cool as her face. “I am indeed Castiel’s aunt, and would prefer if you were to refer to me as Ms. Grey.” She stepped to the side and gestured in a way that didn’t even try to be welcoming. “Please come inside.”

Dean did, doing his best to keep his gaze fixed on the woman, but the inside of her fancy house kept demanding his attention. There were the expected portraits of Jesus and his gang, done up in frames that looked like they were worth more than Dean’s whole house, making the spacious front room feel like the lobby of some upscale hotel. The white carpet and heavy furniture made it worse. Definitely no sand here. He wasn’t entirely sure what marble looked like, but was pretty sure the freakin’ staircase that spilled into the room, gleaming and flaunting, was made of the stuff.

And then Dean didn’t care where he was anymore. Because at the top of that shitty staircase was Cas, smiling a little self-consciously and hurrying down like he couldn’t wait to be gone either. He stopped at the foot of the stairs, a little distance from Dean, but leaning forward toward him. He was in dark jeans and a white button-up shirt, a hint of his tan chest peeking through at the open neck. He was beautiful and handsome and totally perfect.

          “Hello, Dean.”

          “Hey, Cas. You, um, you look great.”

          “Thank you.” He said it just loud enough to be heard over Naomi’s coughing, and turned to her with careful neutrality. “I’m leaving now, Aunt Naomi.”

          “Well, be careful, Castiel.” She opened the door again and looked to Dean as her nephew stepped outside. Challenging him.

With Cas safely his now, Dean felt much more like himself again.

           “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of him. _Ms. Grey.”_ Dean added the title as a cocky afterthought, smiling sunnily as he strut over the threshold. He slid his hand low around Cas’ back, thrilled by both Cas’ smile of approval and Naomi’s sharp inhale behind him, before the door slammed shut.

Dean laughed and released his hold so they could hop inside Baby and take off.

          “Couldn’t resist. You’d think I was dragging you away to hell, the way she stared at me.”

          “Well, in her eyes, you are.” Cas’ expression was bright and excited, totally indifferent to his aunt’s disapproval. He was probably used to it, after all. “Without a doubt, she’s calling up my father, so they can pray for me together. The fact that I’m seeing someone now just brings me one step further away from their grasp. I’m certain you’ll be the subject of several prayer circles this week.”

          “Hah, awesome.” Dean sat in silence for a few beats, enjoying being a bad influence, before the entirety of Cas’ words sunk in and realization hit. “Cas…is this your first date?”

Cas froze, his eyes wide.

           “I…. I, um, went on group dates to homecoming, junior and senior year. With Meg.”

           “Group dates? What, like, boutonnieres and streamers in the gym and shit? Pictures on the lawn?”

           “We had a very _nice_ lawn.”

           “Shit. _Shit_. Cas, why didn’t you tell me?” Dean gripped the steering wheel hard, willing himself not to explode.

            “Don’t be angry at me! I didn’t think it was so important. Also,” Cas rubbed the back of his neck and stared uneasily at the space between them. “I didn’t want you to think I was so naïve. Or strange.”

           “I’m not mad at you, Cas, I’m pissed because I didn’t know this was your first date so I didn’t make it, like, _special!_ I would have come up with something more than dinner or brought you flowers or something.” Dean looked sideways at Cas, who would at least meet his eyes now, a hopeful expression in his own. “And anyway, you are kind of strange, but that’s okay. I like it.”

         “I’m glad.” They were pulling up to the restaurant now and Cas spared it an interested glance, his voice all eagerness again. “I enjoy spending time with you, Dean, no matter what we’re doing.”

         “Me too. But eating and surfing are higher up on the list.” Dean grinned easily, letting himself be excited too. It was impossible not to feel awesome, walking into a fancy joint with a hot date by his side. A hot date who liked spending time with him and thought he was an incredible, golden being, whatever the hell that meant.

         “Winchester, reservation for two,” he told the hostess and saw her eyes flicker from him to Cas. Did she know they were together, Dean wondered. Or was she just admiring the view? He found himself hoping she did know, for some reason.

At any rate, she smiled and beckoned them to a tiny table in a secluded corner. Dean touched the back of the first chair, wavering for a split second, then pulled it out and almost shoved Cas down, in his determination to go all in on this. Cas just huffed a breath of laughter as Dean took his own seat, embarrassed, but pleased with himself for going through with the gesture.

A waiter floated over and asked for their drink order.

         “Whatever you’ve got on tap for me and a cosmo for him,” Dean fired off immediately, swelling with pride at the look Cas gave him. _He_ was who mattered tonight. Not Naomi or Dad or anyone else, and the thought made Dean wish the night would never end.

At least until he opened his menu and realized he was way, way out of his league.

That it was spendy didn’t bother him; he’d been anticipating that. What did have him worried was the fact that not only could he not pronounce a single item, but that he also didn’t know what the hell anything was.

Dean snuck a peek over the thick leather portfolio at Cas, who was studying his own menu thoughtfully.

          “I think I’ll start with the caprese and have the scaloppini for the main course,” he announced, taking a sip of the bright pink drink their waiter had delivered.

          “Um, right, sounds good.” Dean hid himself behind his menu again, panic building as he grew increasingly desperate to find something, anything he could order without sounding like a complete idiot. Calamari was squid, right? He wasn’t sure he could eat that, but at least he could _say_ it.

          “Dean?”

          “Yeah, Cas?” Dean took a hefty swig of his beer and forced his face into a normal, non-freaked position.

          “You know, just because I come from an affluent background doesn’t mean I necessarily enjoy fine dining. Pasta is only ever really pasta.”

          “Yeah, ‘course.”

          “Dean?”

When he looked up this time, Cas was gazing at him with a small, kind smile.

          “What?”

          “We don’t have to eat here.”

          “Oh, thank God.” Dean groaned out loud with relief before downing the rest of his beer, throwing some cash on the table, and following Cas out of the place, trying hard not to look like a caged animal flying the coop. So much for being awesome.

But Cas was laughing when they pulled up to some greasy spoon on the other end of town for take-out, not at Dean, but with his usual warmth. He accepted the oily paper bag Dean dropped on his lap with the same interest he’d shown at the Italian place, with a sincere thank you, and that made Dean feel like maybe he hadn’t screwed up quite as badly as he thought.

          “You could have asked me what to order,” Cas said, licking a smear of ketchup from his wrist. Dean was glad to see that despite his interest in rabbit food, Cas could really go to town on a burger. “But we really didn’t have to go somewhere like that, if it makes you feel uncomfortable.”

          “I thought _you_ would like it though. It was the least I could do. I mean damn, Cas, you went out and practically got a new wardrobe for me.”

Cas smiled ruefully and looked down at himself.

           “It was only one outfit. And it was very kind of Sam to help me.”

           “You two did a great job, you really do look, well, handsome.” Dean had never told anyone that before, not with any real intent behind it, but it was true, and he liked being able to say it to Cas.

           “I do?” Cas turned on his signature smile then, and Dean swallowed the last of the french fries and felt his gut warm with anticipation. “I think you look very nice too, Dean. You always are quite stunning, though.”

          _“Stunning?_ Why do I gotta be stunning, can’t I be handsome too?!”

          “You are!” Cas laughed, and Dean noticed he was much closer on the bench seat now. But not close enough. He swept the empty bags blocking their path to each other to the floor and Cas closed the distance in a flash.

    Making out in a car should have felt juvenile and kind of silly, but Dean was quickly falling in love with how private and intimate the confinement was, emboldened by the knowledge that they were totally alone in a little world he had made himself. He was free to knead softly at Cas’ neck while they kissed, running his tongue across the back of his teeth while his other hand ran up and down his spine. Cas pulled him tighter, gripping at his hair and a fistful of his shirt, making sweet little groaning noises deep in his throat until finally Dean was forced to take his mouth away to catch his breath, and found the sliver of tanned skin visible under Cas’ collar too gorgeous to resist anymore.

    He sucked hard, letting his lips wander wetly over the smooth, heated juncture where Cas’ chest met his neck. He found Cas’ pulse racing hotly and scraped his teeth over the soft skin there, earning one long, drawn-out moan and a burning line of heat against his inner thigh. Dean looked down in surprise and discovered Cas had managed to climb up into his lap, his hips pressed flush against Dean at an angle that allowed the devouring of his neck. Cas opened his eyes when the sensation stopped, the blue hazy and lust-blown. Dean swallowed hard, but the moment’s pause gave him time to think about what to do next.

          “Do I have to take you home?” he murmured, holding Cas’ hips tight, wondering what it would feel like to rock forward against them.

          “No.” Cas answered quietly, not moving at all, his face full of expectation.

          “Then can I take you to my home?” Dean rubbed the question in tiny circles over the hipbones in his hands. But he had a much better idea of what Cas was expecting now.

          _“Yes_. Dean, yes.”

    Easing Cas off his lap felt like an incredible form of torture, his body already missing, _craving_ that satisfying weight. Cas hesitated for a moment, still pressed up against Dean’s side, before returning to the opposite end of the seat. Dean was about to complain about the distance, but he caught the intense determination of Cas’ face as he re-fastened his seatbelt and gripped his own thighs with his pretty hands: he too wanted this so bad that being able to touch without going further was even worse than not touching at all.

    Dean didn’t have the mental capacity left to worry about the speed limit; hell, it was all he could do to remember the route home in his eagerness to just get there (besides, he could probably get the sheriff to drop a ticket if he asked nicely the next time Jody invited them for dinner). It wasn’t a very long drive, but the anticipation of what was coming next made every second of breathing in Cas’ scent, hearing his rough exhalations, needing to feel his warm skin seem almost cruel, like he was being kept from something precious.

     Finally, _finally,_ they were home. Cas didn’t even look at Dean, just leapt up from his seat, slammed the squeaky door, and ran up the steps, practically begging Dean to chase him, and he did, reveling in the blood that coursed through him at the sight of all that tight, taut muscle flexing under white fabric and against dark denim. They raced inside and up the second set of stairs straight into Dean’s room, where he kicked the door shut behind them, breathing harshly, just as Cas surged at him. He shoved Dean flat against the door, making it rattle as he pushed him back hard, reaching up to pull his mouth down to meet his. It was their first time kissing at this angle, and though Cas came closer to his height than anyone else had before, Dean still had to lean in to meet the wet, searing exchange of lips and tongues and teeth. Cas was so damn _strong_ , pressing their chests together insistently and tugging at Dean’s neck and bicep. Dean let his hands fall from Cas’ face, ghosting lightly over his sides and hips again, before grabbing at his ass ( _God_ , it was a fantastic, well-rounded ass) and guiding his pelvis flush against his own.

Cas pulled his mouth away and moaned into Dean’s neck at the feeling of their erections thrust up against each other, his deep voice making the low sound vibrate on Dean’s skin. The sound and sensation were both brand new to Dean, and made him feel desperate and exhilarated.

           “Need…more…” Cas gasped out, dragging them backwards, his legs hitting the edge of the bed with a jolt and threatening to collapse them both before Dean gained enough brain power to pull back, letting Cas drop against the bouncy surface alone. He looked surprised, then intrigued by what he’d landed on, turning to pat the blankets, watch as the water rolled under his hand.

          “Hang on.” Dean yanked at the edge of the comforter, forcing Cas to stand again and destroying his handiwork as he ripped the blankets from his bed to the floor, arranging them in a soft, messy nest on the carpet. “Okay, now c’mere, Cas.”

    Cas smiled and accepted Dean’s pulling him down onto the nest, where they quickly started up again, kissing and panting and jerking against one another, seeking more friction, more heat. Dean pushed up the back of Cas’ shirt, exposing that lovely tan skin just as he slid his leg between those strong thighs, groaning when it brought them back in contact with one another. Still, it wasn’t near enough, and he rolled them so that he was lying atop Cas, hips aligned, giving him enough leverage to grind down against that firm line. Cas breathed in sharply, bringing his hands up to claw at Dean’s shirt, dragging him in closer. Dean kissed him hotly while rotating his hips in a slow, purposeful motion before pushing himself up to tear away his flannel.

     He was more deliberate in removing Cas’ shirt, taking his time to pop open each button, revealing Cas inch by inch. Cas looked up at Dean with something like _gratefulness,_ shrugging off his sleeves when the task was done and throwing the thing off somewhere. Dean ran his hands reverently over firm, warm skin, exploring toned pecs and abs. Cas wasn’t curvy or supple anywhere. His lack of boobs, in particular, was suddenly very conspicuous, and although his nipples were small and rough, Cas responded nicely when Dean pinched and rolled them, first with his fingers and then with his tongue, lapping at the pebbled skin wetly. Cas’ hands were tight on Dean’s skull, dragging him in for more as his hips thrust up involuntarily. It was so damn good, it made Dean’s head spiral with arousal, but he made himself stop, determined suddenly by the wonderful pressure of their cocks to give Cas a full disclosure.

          “Cas,” he started, pulling back to straddle those god _damn_ hipbones, Cas squirming and frowning slightly at the interruption. “I’m so damn hot for you, babe, but before we go any further, I just wanted you to know that I’ve, uh, never done this with a dude.”

Cas stopped moving and looked up with an amused tilt to his pink, saliva-slick lips.

          “Neither have I.”

Relief flooded Dean, making him even more light-headed.

          “Thank God then, I-”

          “With _anyone,”_ Cas finished helpfully.

The relief was gone, taking with it the pleasant light-headed feeling as the bomb dropped. Hands above the covers. No dating til sixteen. Military school. First date. The signs had been there all along.

            _“Tell_ me that isn’t true,” Dean groaned anxiously, scrubbing at his face. This couldn’t be happening. He’d only just gotten over his discomfort with another man’s dick against his own (which seemed pretty damn ridiculous now that he knew it was freakin’ awesome), it didn’t seem possible that he could suddenly be okay with deflowering virgins in the same night. Dean liked experience. He liked traveling well-worn paths with people who knew the way, not putting the fun on hold to coax newbies along.

           “Of course it’s true. Why do you seem so surprised?” Cas asked curiously, tilting his head to one side against the comforter bunched under him. “Does this upset you? I assure you, Dean, I would like to continue, _very_ much.” He rolled his hips up again, more firmly into Dean’s crotch this time and the resulting shock of pleasure kickstarted something in the reasoning part of his brain. Cas was not the one who kept putting the fun on hold. And he was anything but shy. The hands stroking softly at Dean’s thighs were inexperienced in their movements, sure, sometimes uncertain, but not hesitant. Dean reconsidered the ‘World’s Biggest Dumbass’ sticker for a minute, then quickly decided that he really needed to stop making up stupid shit to worry about.

           “Me too,” he finally answered, smirking and grabbing for those hipbones again.

Dean kissed his way down Cas’ chest and belly, mouthing happily at the soft skin there. He breathed deep at the musky-arousal scent above the waistband of Cas’ jeans, not finding it at all off-putting, just a good place to bite down, his nose brushing the faint trail of hair disappearing below. He needed to follow that trail.

Rearing back completely, Dean made quick work of the unsexy task of removing Cas’ shoes and socks, then yanked away his own boots, almost as an afterthought. His hands went right back to Cas’ waist, and he rubbed at the new, rough denim with his thumbs.

          “Please, Dean.” Cas sounded _wrecked_ , and when Dean looked up, he found his chest heaving and his flush spread all across his cheeks and throat. He looked back down at the bulge beneath him, straining against the fabric, and resolved then that he was going to make Cas feel really, _really_ good.

           “I’ve got you, babe.” Dean dragged open the zipper tag, revealing the white, damp fabric of Cas’ boxers. He knew it was selfish to go slow when the evidence of Cas’ need was right in front of his face, but he couldn’t help wanting to prolong the moment, filing away in his memory how beautiful Cas looked as he was touched for the first time. He dug his fingers into both pants and underwear and tore them away in one go, leaving Cas totally naked on his bedroom floor.

    Dean inhaled sharply, taking in everything all at once: Cas’ mussed-up hair and blue eyes, his pretty flush over miles and miles of sun-kissed skin, his muscled legs, and especially his swollen cock curving up against his belly. He was slick with precome and flushed there too, a little bit longer than Dean, but not nearly as thick. Dean found the contrast unexpectedly sexy, and was immediately eager to free his own cock, to show Cas how gorgeous they would look together. He popped the button and pulled the zipper of his jeans, trying to wriggle out of them without leaving again, aware of and deeply aroused by Cas tracking his movements hungrily.

     Dean slid back down, grunting with pleasure as their bare bodies pressed hot against one another, Cas answering with a soft gasp. Dean propped himself up on one elbow and reached down with his other hand, grasping their cocks together and giving a few long, experimental strokes. The friction was _breathtaking,_ and he was encouraged by Cas rolling his hips up into the motion, letting out desperate little moans all the while.

      Cas’ hand joined his around their pulsing erections, his thumb smearing his own overflowing wetness from the head of his cock to Dean’s. He dropped his forehead to touch Cas’ and growled deep in his throat, suddenly knowing exactly what to do. Leaving Cas to grip them tight in his fist, Dean lined up so their hips ground against one another, dug his knees into the floor, forearms bracketing Cas’ face, and thrust down hard. Cas shuddered across his whole body, eyes squeezing shut and neck arching up, but he kept his hold on the focus of their pleasure, the lack of space between their bodies just adding to the sensations.

      Dean started up a steady rhythm, rutting so strongly Cas slid forward on the blankets every few thrusts. He was totally lost in the feeling of it all, Cas’ free hand pulling at the back of his neck for sloppy, uncoordinated kisses, the burn in his thighs, the cool of the comforter where one knee was braced and the roughness of carpet on the other. He wanted to be able to keep going, to impress Cas with his stamina, but his gut was tightening and rolling, threatening to spill over at any second, and Cas was making the most deliciously hot mewling sounds under him, his own abs pulling in and legs trembling. They’d both been on the edge for way too long, frustrated by multiple interruptions, and all Dean had to do was bear down and fuck his hips as hard as he could before Cas was coming, wetness spilling from under his fist as he called out in a wordless cry with a loudness that could only come from never having done this before.

      If Dean thought Cas looked gorgeous before, it was nothing compared to him in the throes of orgasm, when his flush deepened, his body shook and tried to curl in on itself, and tears gathered at the corners of his still-shut eyes as he twisted and groaned. His belly was still spasming with aftershocks and his hand had fallen away when Dean ground down through the cum slicked against his cock, hands clenched, toes curled, before coming harder than he could ever remember, Cas’ name caught hoarsely in the back of his throat.

      They both panted hard for a long minute, Dean strongly considering collapsing against the heat radiating from Cas. He was glad he didn’t though, when he finally sat back on unsteady legs and took in the mouth-watering sight that was Cas’ pretty skin broken up by streaks of creamy white cum, all across his belly and chest. Dean quickly bent to clear away some of it with his tongue, unable to resist, and was surprised to find he actually liked the earthy, salty taste they made together. But there was an _incredible_ amount of it, and Cas groaned unhappily as the licking continued, murmuring, “Dean, too much” and so Dean looked around the nest for something to clean him off with. He found his flannel and went to work without hesitation, thinking only of how good the soft, still-warm fabric would feel against Cas’ sensitized skin.

When he was finished, Cas continued to lay boneless and pliant, like he never wanted to move again, and Dean chuckled, pleased.

         “Cas. Babe, let’s get up on the bed.”

          “No. ‘s too far.”

Starting to feel sleepy himself, but unwilling to disturb the blissed-out creature on the floor, Dean scooped Cas up in his arms like he’d done at the beach and deposited him gently on the bed, where he stretched out on his back and shivered a little. Dean collected up all the blankets and spread them messily over the two of them, making sure that Cas was covered. All he wanted to do was grab at Cas again and bring him close, but he settled back a little ways away, so that he could have his own space if he wanted.

But Cas immediately shuffled over, ass and back pressed up against Dean’s front, and sighed deeply as Dean wound an arm around his chest.

         “So. How’d you like _that?”_ Dean was feeling pretty solid about the answer by now, but needed to hear it from Cas, to know for sure.

Cas gave a drowsy hum and snuggled back closer.

         “It was mostsatisfactory,” he mumbled happily. “Much better than I imagined.”

Dean just grinned to himself and buried his nose in Cas’ soft, fragrant hair.

         “Why d’you always smell like a chick?”

         “Are you talking about my hibiscus shampoo? You know, it’s pointless to assign gender to hair care products, Dean. I like the scent of floral soaps, so I buy them.”

         “Mmmmmh. I like the way you smell, ‘s good.”

         They laid together contently for several more minutes, Cas’ breathing turning slow and deep and Dean feeling himself starting to doze off.

         “Happy first date, Cas,” he found himself whispering before closing his eyes and wrapping himself more snugly around the warmth against his chest.

         “I’m glad it was with you,” Cas answered sleepily.

 

This time, it was the water that did him in.

    Dean gasped helplessly as he fell under the waves again and again, clawing his way up, trying to grab hold of something, anything, while maintaining his grip on the body on his arm. Maybe, just _maybe_ it wasn’t too late, and this faint hope gave him strength to keep paddling and kicking hard. But maybe there was no use in hoping anymore. Dean choked around the salty tide that just kept filling his throat, bits of angry red blinking in his peripheral vision. He was so tired, but his heart thundered on desperately, trying to postpone the inevitable. Everything was so dark and cold and the body against him was so heavy. He gave a few more feeble kicks, feeling himself succumbing to the depths, before-

          “DEAN!”

He woke up screaming. He knew it was him this time; he could feel the great gusts of air leaving his lungs, much too suddenly after not being able to breathe at all and he wheezed, coughing up water that wasn’t there anymore. Trying to catch his breath was so all encompassing that it was several long moments before he was aware of the sick nausea in his gut, the tightness of his limbs, and the cold shaking.

Then Dean felt the hands clutching him, familiar hands too small and gentle to be Sam’s. He leaned into the touch anyway, drawn to the comfort of warm, bare skin. He forced his eyes open and looked up into Cas’ face, just barely visible in the dim moonlight.

Dean started to struggle immediately, needing to free himself without knowing why, but Cas was quicker. He wrapped his arms more firmly around Dean, holding him back against his chest, which was toasty warm despite being exposed to the cool air. The blankets and sheets were tangled up in both their legs, helping further to pin Dean down, and he fell back on Cas, defeated and exhausted, still panting hoarsely.

Cas waited til the shaking had finally stopped and Dean’s breathing and heart rate had evened out, matching the pace of his own, before speaking quietly.

         “What happened?”

Dean wanted so badly to lie. He was too tired to run, but he could still try to fabricate some bull about a nightmare. Except he just couldn’t do it. He knew then, somehow, that it was time.

           “It happens once or twice every month. Remembering. I can’t stop it.”

           “What are you remembering, Dean?”

            “It was a year ago come July. Late in the day, waves were breaking and it was just barely raining. Most everyone had come out of the water and me and Jo were sweeping the area, looking for stragglers, when this little girl grabs my arm and tells me her brother was still out. He was so close to the shore, I lost my head and just swam out there, thinking I could pull him right in. I didn’t even notice how hard he was struggling.”

           “A hidden current.”

           “A riptide. The kid was all worn out from fighting it; he was screaming, but by the time I got to him, he didn’t have the energy left. He just went limp.”

Dean took a deep, shuddering breath.

           “I started to head in, slowly, but the storm came up fast. It was hard to see with all the rain and I started to freak. The kid was heavy. I got tired, kept going under and under and under…”

He stopped, shutting his eyes tight against the wetness he felt gathering in them. Cas pulled at him tighter, tracing small, soothing patterns on his ribs.

         “I blacked out. I came to when Jo and Benny were dragging us to the shore, and I remember the faces they made, when they thought I was dead. I wished I _was_ dead, then. The sound of that little girl crying because her brother was never waking up, I just… I see them both, in the dreams. Sometimes it’s Sammy instead. And I wake up and for a second, I think I’ve died, but I’m alive, and it just _hurts.”_

Dean curled in on himself, ashamed at his very core.

          “You’re very brave, Dean.” Cas’ voice was soft, but like before, like always, there was nothing in it that was uncertain or pitying, trying to shut him up in a hurry without wanting to hear more. Just that simple honesty. “You were willing to give your life for that boy. You nearly did. But I know your family and I are very glad you’re here now.”

Cas stroked through Dean’s hair, and shit, no one had done that since _Mom,_ but it was doing something good in him, relaxing his body and head a little bit.

         “You are a good, righteous man. You truly care for others. But I wonder if you ever let yourself take care of _you?_ You deserve that, Dean. The past is gone. You don’t have to punish yourself for your mistakes, imagined and not, anymore. I told you that it’s with you that I finally feel free. You deserve to be free too.”

Dean exhaled suddenly, releasing a breath he didn’t even realize he was still holding in. He had told Cas the big one. He was supposed to be defensive, angry, embarrassed, all the things meant to drive him away. But Cas wasn’t leaving. And Dean didn’t feel those things at all. He frowned slightly, confused. He just felt…light. Like he’d set down something heavy. Like it wasn’t so important to hide anymore. Like his secret was safe but it also wasn’t a secret now. He reached for one of Cas’ hands and slotted their fingers together, fascinated by the way Cas completed the gesture, as if it was part of a secret handshake they’d both known all along.

         “Okay. I think…I just wanna be free together, with you.”

         “Yes. I would like that as well. And, um, Dean?”

          “Mh?”

         “I don’t know if you’ve already considered this, but maybe you should throw out your water bed if you’re having flashbacks to the time you nearly drowned.”

Dean took a minute to answer, stunned into silence with the realization that he’d honestly never even thought of that before.

          “Tomorrow. We’ll go and pick out a new mattress tomorrow, okay? Jesus. I’ve really got to keep you around, wonder what else I’m letting pass right by me.”

          “The passenger door on the Impala squeaks and you consume too much saturated fat.”

Dean couldn’t quite believe he was _laughing_ not even an hour after reliving his near death, but that was really happening too. Weirdest date he’d ever been on. Best date he’d ever been on.

         “You shut up, smart-ass. Or you don’t get to help break in the new bed.”

         “Alright.” Dean could feel Cas’ smile, it was so wide. “Also, I’m not certain your fabric softener is very effective.”

         “Good NIGHT, Cas.”

 

When Dean woke up late the next morning, it took only seconds to remember the night before. _All_ of it. But he felt better rested than he had in ages, maybe even a year, and there was Cas, sleeping naked in his bed. Cas had stayed. He knew and he had stayed, to hold Dean close and kiss him softly and drool all over his pillow, which he’d somehow stolen during the night. Dean just huffed, watching him, wondering how he’d managed to swing this.

Cas looked pretty cozy, so he tried to be quiet easing out of bed and rummaging for clean clothes, but the front door slammed suddenly and Cas’ brow scrunched up before he rolled over, sighing softly.

          “Sam is home,” he informed Dean lazily.

          “Looks like it. Guess the fun’s over then.” Dean shrugged on a t-shirt and did up his zipper as Cas slowly pushed himself upright and watched, squinting away sleep from his eyes.

         “I prefer watching you take _off_ your clothes,” he announced seriously and Dean laughed, coming around the bed to bend over Cas for a long, sweet kiss. It was such a damn good way to wake up, he didn’t want to stop, and rasped together the stubble on their cheeks, Cas humming quietly, until a low gurgling sounded from his stomach. Dean and Cas looked down together at the source of the rumbling, Dean frowning at the interruption, Cas laughing lightly and hoisting himself to his feet.

        “Breakfast time, I think.” He bent over to retrieve his jeans without a hint of modesty, putting that spectacular, tight ass on display and making Dean even more loathe to let Cas leave his bed. His dick and stomach argued briefly over their hungers before Dean groaned, rubbing his face with his hands, and conceded to his gut and, well, his basic sense of decency.

        “I’m gonna go to the can, you need anything?”

        “Yes, actually.” Cas picked up his wrinkled white shirt. “Can I borrow some clothes?”

        “Sure, take whatever you need. Meet you downstairs.”

In the bathroom, Dean splashed himself with cold water and spent a long minute considering his reflection in the mirror. This time yesterday, he’d been tripping all over himself worrying. Now he had, well, _something_ with Cas, something someone else would probably want to label and lock in now. That kind of thing wasn’t important to Dean; he was just so damn happy it was real, he couldn’t care less what it was called, but he knew for sure that if Cas wanted labels and titles and Facebook relationship crap, he would do it without hesitation. Maybe he did, this being his first time opening up a relationship and all.

Some deep, hidden part of Dean cut in selfishly, hoping that it would also be his _last_ time, but he shook the thought away from his head in a flash. It was too crazy and terrifying to even think about.

Dean finished cleaning up and headed downstairs to a pleasant level of activity coming from the kitchen. He leaned up against the outside counter, trying not to disturb anything, and grinned as he took in the incredible sight of his little brother and Cas bustling around the kitchen making pancakes on a Saturday morning.

Sam pulled out a spatula and waved it at Dean in greeting.

        “Morning. I don’t know what kind of crap you told him, but Cas here is under the impression that spending the night means he has to cook you breakfast.”

        “I wanted to. If only to preserve my dignity, seeing as Dean doesn’t believe I actually can cook.”

        “The instructions are on the back of the package, if you can’t handle even that then yeah, I’d say you were pretty much hopeless.”

Cas was wearing his own jeans, but he’d dug up one of Dean’s old band t’s to go with them, the worn fabric hanging off his shoulders slightly looser than it did on Dean but still fitting him nicely. Dean couldn’t stop staring. Cas in his car and bed was one thing, but Cas in his clothes and kitchen? He was so fucking lost.

Cas noticed his ogling and smiled back as he beat pancake batter. Sam looked up from frying bacon at the silence and groaned, catching the exchange.

         “I guess I don’t even need to ask if you guys had a good night then.”

         “We did, Sam,” Cas answered brightly, pouring batter in a pan. “When our original dinner plans fell apart, Dean took me for burgers, and then he brought us back here and took my virginity.”

Sam almost dropped the plate of bacon, his eyebrows shooting up as he gaped at the two of them. Dean muffled a hysterical laugh, torn between embarrassment and thinking it was totally worth having Cas around just for moments like that. Cas himself just stood tending the pancakes, apparently unconscious that he’d said anything strange.

          “Right, that was, uh, our night.” Dean cleared his throat and grappled for a new conversation topic. “Anyway, me and Cas are going to pick me out a new bed today, think Charlie’ll let us borrow her truck?”

         “For sure, she’s holed up doing freelance stuff. I’m proud of you, Dean, that freakin’ waterbed needed to go about thirty years ago. Bet it was _your_ idea though, huh Cas?”

          “It was not especially comfortable,” Cas said absently, doling out pancakes onto plates. He caught Dean’s eye and gave a small, meaningful wink that had him almost sinking to the floor in relief and a new-found appreciation for his new…. whatever Cas was to him. Cas may have been oblivious about keeping their sex life private, but the other half of last night was their secret.

          “Well anyway, let’s eat.” Dean brought syrup and honey and forks to the table, Cas and Sam followed with the food, and together they sat down for breakfast like a normal, functional, nuclear family. Eat your heart out, assholes, Dean thought, imagining the expressions on Cas’ whole family if they could only see their precious baby boy now, and smacked down triumphantly on a forkful of pancakes.

 

Time started to move really weird for Dean after that. He found himself so absorbed in being with Cas, so freakin’ wacked out just on his presence, that he couldn’t really say what they did all day, just that they spent it together. His brain catalogued the hours in moments: flopping on clean white mattresses at the store and turning over to see Cas there beside him, wondering what it would be like to do it every day; driving in Charlie’s truck and laughing over stupid shit like vandalized billboards and the radio deejay; sharing tacos from a paper bag in comfortable silence; stealing kisses any time they could be alone, in the hall or kitchen or after collapsing on the brand-new bed that didn’t wobble or roll when they wrestled each other playfully.

It only stopped when Dean took Cas back to Naomi’s for the night, Cas explaining that he didn’t want his family to worry too much even as his brow furrowed and he lingered inside Baby until the porch lights came on. This time when Cas left, Dean felt empty all the way through, and his sense of the hours passing returned with a vengeance.

He sat alone on the couch late into the night (Sam having gone to bed, frustrated by his brother’s moody silences and rolling his eyes as he left, muttering “okay, so you’ve got it bad, pathetic bastard”), watching TV without taking in anything. When he finally dragged himself up to his room, his mind still whirled with Cas, but for the moment, it was only of the gratitude he felt toward him for helping find such a great bed. Dean shoved himself face-first into the pillows and was out in seconds, sleeping soundly all through the rest of the night.

 

It was at the beach that it happened. Of course it was. Dean’s world had shattered here, he’d put himself back together here, hell, if Bobby was to be believed that one late, drunken night, he was even conceived here. And that the realization came at their own, secret spot? Wow. It was good, great, incredible, almost too much to believe.

Dean picked Cas up bright and early, before the rest of the world even had a chance to wake up and catch up to them. They listened to Led as they drove along, the volume cranked high, and when they arrived and Cas bailed out and down the path with both their boards under his arms, leaving Dean to bring the cooler of food, Dean was aware that Cas was actually singing something. He walked behind him quietly, not wanting him to stop, and eventually figured out it was D’yer Mak’er. Out of tune, slightly off the beat, and to lyrics that weren’t quite right (Cas kept saying “When I read the story you sent me, it made me mad, mad, money”), it was without a doubt the most amazing thing Dean had ever heard.

When they made it to the water, Cas handed Dean over his board, still singing under his breath, and paddled out immediately. Dean hung back for a minute, watching him, and that was when it hit him. He just breathed in once, and when he breathed out, he knew.

It was easy. Like falling asleep wrapped up in strong, sun-tanned arms, or finishing the words to a song he’d known his whole life. It was like following Cas out into the ocean, aware of the dangers lurking and with the memory of disaster not far from reach, but okay with all that now.

Dean shook his head, awed and excited and a little terrified, before throwing himself on his board and heading out after his man.

 

         “Okay, I’ve gotta know about this one: what’s your family do for Christmas?”

         “On Christmas Eve, we go to a long service and open presents at home. Christmas Day is incredibly boring, we mostly just eat and read Bible passages. What’s your favorite ice cream flavor?”

         “Chocolate. You ever have any pets?”

         “Please, you’ve seen my aunt’s house. Just imagine that a hundred times over and you have my parents, we weren’t even allowed to keep fish. What was your favorite subject in school?”

         “I guess…science? I liked learning about machines and building things, Sammy liked bio stuff, even back then. What’d you want to be when you grew up, as a kid?”

         “When I was very young, I couldn’t imagine ever being anything but a soldier. Then I wanted to be a teacher. And a nurse. I always wanted to help people.”

They’d been playing this game of Cas’ for over an hour, sitting in the shade with their backs against the cooler. Dean was in heaven, falling deeper and deeper with every small tidbit he caught.

        “And I liked the sense of order in hospitals, my schooling set me up for that,” Cas continued, smoothing a patch of sand under his palm. “What did you do on your eighteenth birthday?”

        “Got in a fight with Dad and he threatened to throw me out, he’d been riding Sam hard about him wanting to join some geek club instead of the junior lifeguards.” Dean winced at the memory, that had been a _bad_ fight, actually. “What do you like for comfort food?”

        “Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Do you want children?”

Dean blinked rapidly, completely thrown off guard.

       “Umm, yeah, actually, I do. Do, uh, do you?”

        “Yes. Call it a product of my upbringing, but I like the idea of a large family. Three kids. Four.” Cas smiled, his eyes shining with a confident intensity Dean hadn’t seen before. It made him shiver, feeling expectant all of a sudden.

        “Where’s your favorite place in the whole world?”

Cas took a deep breath and looked out into the sea.

        “Right here. Any beach, but this one in particular. The ocean is where I learned how to be a real person.”

Dean followed his gaze, so filled with emotion suddenly his throat ached with it. He was so mesmerized by the motion of the tide and the newness of the feelings swirling inside him that it took some time before he noticed the electronic buzz filling the air, which turned out to be the generic ringtone on Cas’ phone. Cas retrieved it lazily from behind the cooler and answered the call.

          “Hello, Aunt Naomi.”

Dean rolled his eyes and zoned out, determined to ignore the woman’s very existence. He settled for just watching Cas, who suddenly went very still, his lips tight and his eyes wide. Dean sat up then, concerned.

Naomi talked for what seemed like forever, but finally Cas spoke in a low, determined voice, “I’ll be there as soon as possible,” and hung up, standing to gather up their things.

          “Cas? You okay? What’s going on?” Dean followed his lead, sure at least that they were leaving.

          “It’s my father. He had a stroke, and it’s looking not looking very good at all. Naomi and I are leaving for Santa Barbara.” Cas was already heading up the path by the time Dean had fully processed this information, stumbling a little against the cooler and the weight of the news.

          “Shit. Cas, I’m sorry.”

Cas didn’t say anything, just loaded up their boards and slid into the passenger’s seat, staring blankly at the road while Dean fumbled to join him.

They drove in silence, Dean turning off the stereo entirely in respect for the gravity of the situation. He wished he had something comforting to say, but all the words of support that came to mind related to actual death, the thing he needed to help Cas _not_ think about. So he stayed quiet and so did Cas, all euphoria from the past three days chilled by terrible apprehension.

Cas was changing as they got closer to Naomi’s. His back straightened, his shoulders were squared, and his face was set in a dry, vigilant expression. He looked like a soldier and that had Dean moving Baby shakily up the drive, sloppy with anxiety. As soon as they came to a stop, Cas flew out, heading inside without a word or a backwards glance. Dean stared for a minute, dumbfounded, before bailing out to take down Cas’ board.

He didn’t hesitate now, just walked right inside like he owned the place. He looked around the sterile, airless front room, hoping Cas hadn’t gone far, and came face to face with Naomi.

          “Dean. You shouldn’t be here.” She glanced down at the board in his hand with open disgust, obviously loathe to have it in her house.

          “Yeah, well, I had to bring Cas his surfboard. He forgot it. It’s his most important possession, and all.” Dean grit his teeth and clutched the board tighter. He stared down Naomi viciously, trying to put out all the emotion he’d been unable to give Cas before, but she only stared back sadly. _Knowingly,_ and he knew that look too damn well now to believe it had anything to do with her sick brother-in-law.

Dean backed away, revolted. He wasn’t sure why Cas’ aunt was _pitying_ him right then, but he didn’t want anything less, not from her, not ever.

         “You should go, now,” Naomi continued. “I know Castiel has been enjoying his little rebellion with you, but he’s returning home. He’ll always come back home, where he belongs. With his family.”

Dean snorted angrily.

          “Wow, it’s been what, ten years since Cas started breaking from the flock and still you guys just can’t let him go, can you?”

He shook his head and gestured upstairs with the nose of Cas’ board. “That ain’t him, the man you thought he was. He’s not what you think. And he’s the one who’s been teaching me about all that, how you don’t have to be what your family wanted! Cas is better than all that, better than me and you and following orders and sitting in some church somewhere praying to a God who doesn’t give a _damn_ what he wears or where he goes! He just wants to be free from all this.”

          “And you are under the belief that Castiel will choose to stay here with you, if freed from his family obligations.” Naomi’s face was impassive now, but she sighed and held out her arms toward Dean. He scowled and drew back again. “Please, Dean. I’ll keep it for him here, it isn’t as if he’ll have the chance to surf at home anyway.”

Reluctantly, Dean set the board down on her arms. It looked weird against Naomi and her dull grey suit and perfect house, all the joy Cas had infused in it faded away. Dean touched it again for a brief moment and made for the door wordlessly.

          “And Dean.” Naomi called over his shoulder but he didn’t turn around, just gripped the doorknob in his hand. “If you ever hope to see Castiel again, I suggest you don’t try to contact him over the next few days. Even from heaven’s doorstep, that boy’s father will have eyes and ears tracking him constantly.”

         “Right, good thing _you’re_ above that kind of bullshit.”

          “I am sorry.” Dean turned this time, noticing the mournful tone she’d taken on. Naomi seemed almost human then, shoulders bent, head dipped, looking down at the beautiful board in her arms. “He’s been so happy since he met you. When he came here, we never dreamed he’d find anyone to leave behind.”

 

     Dean wanted to be sad, knew that was the correct emotional state to be in now, but he was too damn angry. He relayed the explanation of Cas’ leaving to Sam as minimally as possible, ignored the influx of calls about it, and set out for some more garage-trashing. He was grateful Baby was finished so that he couldn’t wreck her in his anguish, but finding anything else to soothe the riot of color and emotion exploding inside his head was impossible.

      He didn’t care about pretence now, just openly smashed and threw whatever was in his path, upending years of work collecting parts and loose ends. Dean scattered bolts like rain and dented rims with his bare hands. He made piles and piles of warped metal, cracked glass, kinked hoses, and still he was too worked up to even think. The noise was incredible, but Sam didn’t come, and when Dean looked outside at the horizon, exhausted, over a twisted bundle of wire he’d knotted, adding to the red scrapes across his hands and arms, it was pink and pale yellow with the oncoming day.

 

     Sam begged him not to go (“Just take a couple days off, Benny and everybody will understand”), but Dean made it to work anyway, wiping off dried blood in the parking lot and chugging cheap gas station coffee. No one seemed to want to come near him, even Jo, and he was glad for it, feeling something poisonous and unpredictable curling just under his skin, ready to lash out and keep destroying. He sat in his tower long after he suspected his shift ended (he wasn’t sure where he’d left his phone or watch), gazing at the waves that looked cruel and threatening again.

     Finally, Dean found himself back inside Baby, daylight dimming around them. He licked his lips and tapped against the steering wheel, considering what he was about to do. When he slowly steered her out, it was down a street he didn’t travel much anymore. He made his purchases with steely determination and drove home in silence, the tinny clink of glass against glass the only sound above the roar of Baby’s engine.

     He drank deeply, purposefully, desperate to stop feeling, to stop seeing Cas whenever he closed his eyes. Goddamn, it was painful, thinking about Cas trapped in his parents’ house, being watched by everybody even as his dad was probably inches away from biting the big one. Dean wished for numbness, but all the whiskey did was take away his desire to break open the whole world. The sadness he’d been expecting finally showed and seemed to crash over him like a monster wave. He slumped against the couch from the floor, pressing his wet face into the worn cushions, feeling more alone than he ever had in his life.

The couch dipped in, and from far above came a disgruntled huff.

          “Well, you look like hell. You can’t let yourself fall apart just ‘cus he’s gone for a little while, what would Cas say if he saw you like this?” Sam’s voice was sympathetic, but firm. He snatched the nearly empty bottle of Jack’s from Dean’s reach and gave a long, tired sigh. Dean winced and buried himself deeper into the fabric.

          “It doesn’t matter anyway, he’s not here. Maybe he’s never coming back here again.”

          “Yeah, and maybe he’s dealing with his dad being sick while you bitch at everything in sight and drink yourself to oblivion. Dean. I thought you weren’t gonna do this again.”

          “I didn’t want it, Sammy, I just couldn’t stop thinking about him. I didn’t even get to say good-bye and now he’s stuck there alone with his family and it had me so fucking pissed off.”

          “Yeah, well, I can’t honestly say I blame you. It sucks that he’s gone, he’s really good for you. He’ll come back though, Dean, he has to, you two have something going now.”

          “Y’don’t understand, Sam. This is it, okay? Cas is _it_. He’s like…I think I…” Dean pulled away from the couch and made a weak gesture toward Sam, trying to communicate what his brain still wouldn’t let him put into words.

Sam’s eyes went wide.

          “Really? This isn’t just the booze talking, right? You’re not going to wake up tomorrow and deny you ever said anything?”

          “Cas is it, Sammy,” Dean repeated earnestly. Fuck, it felt good to spill his guts all over the place, he should have started doing it years ago. “He’s the coolest, hottest, smartest, best person I’ve ever met, ever, and I did the, the remembering thing after we did it and he _stayed_ and made me feel better and I need him, okay? I need him, back here.”

          “Okay.” Sam was staring, but it seemed like a good thing, and honestly, now that he’d admitted the truth, Dean felt too damn tired to care about anything. “Cas is really the one. Wow. Okay. We’re gonna talk about this again, but for now, you should really go to bed, Dean. C’mon.”

Dean had his eyes closed and his body felt useless and heavy, but Sammy was hoisting him upright and bracing him against that giant moose frame as they made the long journey upstairs. His bed was soft and solid, but disappointingly empty and he reached out into the bare space, groaning, before blacking out.

 

    Dean woke up with a gut full of sludge and a sick taste in his mouth. His head was pounding so hard that just walking downstairs was a staggering effort, and he shut his eyes against the bright glare of the morning. Fumbling against the counter blindly, he touched a piece of paper and forced himself to look at it. Scribbled in Sam’s hand was, “Told Benny and Bobby you weren’t coming in, go take a shower because you reek, dude.” Dean glanced at the time. It was almost noon. He sighed, and fell into the mechanics of forcing down water and toast, popping ibuprophen, scrubbing himself off, and getting dressed. He didn’t feel up to doing much work, but made up his mind to go to the shop anyway. Bobby had been burned like this before, way worse even. At the very least, he knew hangovers and would have some of that lethal coffee.

    It was on the wrong end of town, but Dean couldn’t resist driving by the mansion again, just to see the Jeep parked at the top of the driveway. It wasn’t much, yet it still gave him a glimpse of hope, knowing Cas would have to come back for it, and his board. He had to come back.

   Dean ignored both the lump in his throat and the buzzing of his phone as he drove, not in the mood to talk just yet. He pulled to the side of the road to let a screaming ambulance pass by, barely even noticing the noise until he realized it wasn’t stopping. He jerked upright, suddenly alert, and discovered he had followed the ambulance all the way to Bobby’s.

        _“Fuck.”_

This couldn’t be happening, there had to be some kind of mistake, Dean told himself, pushing frantically against people in uniforms who were trying to hold him back, yelling, although he couldn’t hear anything with all the blood pounding in his ears. But then Sam was there, wild-eyed and angry, making everyone leave him alone just in time for Dean to see someone who couldn’t be Bobby getting loaded up in the back of the ambulance. He was pale and motionless and surrounded by scrambling paramedics, and Dean heard himself screaming, felt the cold darkness closing in around him, but this time, when Sam grabbed him and pulled, he didn’t wake up.

 

      The doctors told Sam, who in turn told Dean, that an incomplete SCI was a good thing. That there was a chance he could regain some motor control in his legs even if he wouldn’t be able to feel them when he woke up. His brain was okay and so was everything else, aside from some bruises and scrapes. He was lucky, they said.

But he didn’t look so lucky to Dean, lying there in bed, out cold from the surgery to stabilize his spine and all trussed up to keep him from moving. He just looked like he was in for a world of hurt.

Sam came back into the room, running his hand through his hair and looking more exhausted than Dean could ever remember. Still, he smiled.

          “Doctors say it may be a while. Ellen called, she’s bringing us some food.”

          “Dude, how can you think about _food_ right now?”

          “Because we’ve been here for seven hours worrying that Bobby wasn’t going to make it? It’s alright, Dean, he’s going to be okay and he’d want us to take care of ourselves.”

          “He almost died, Sam!” Dean clenched the footboard of the bed and squeezed his eyes shut, holding himself back. “We almost lost him.”

          “Yeah.” Sam spoke softly and rested his hand on Dean’s shoulder, the weight grounding and steady. “I know. I was there. When I got to the garage and saw him trapped under that fucking car, not moving, I thought he was already gone. He’s tough though, we know that. That’s how he got his spine messed up, twisting and trying to get out.”

         “It’s just a damn good thing you got there when you did, Sammy.” Dean felt a little bit better, but still shuddered, imaging what could have happened had no one found him in time.

         “Actually, it’s kind of a damn good thing _you_ were all screwed up yesterday. I forgot to tell you, but that’s why I was even there. I was hoping Bobby would know what to say to you, about Cas.”

Dean snorted, amused for what felt like the first time in days.

         “Well, I guess great minds think alike.”

          “Dean, I couldn’t for the life of me remember if you liked gravy or not, so I brought it anyway.” Ellen swept into the room with two bags full of restaurant take-out and Jo in hand. She deposited her bounty on the tiny table and marched over to inspect the patient. “His color and vitals are good, I give it a week before he’s hollerin’ about something or other. Always was a hearty old bird.”

          “It’s just hard seeing him all weak and helpless,” Jo mumbled, eyes red, smoothing out the blankets on the bed as the brothers inhaled their food.

          “Don’t you worry about Bobby, he’s gonna wake up any minute, asking why we didn’t get him anything,” Dean said thickly through a mouthful of chicken-fried steak. His phone vibrated in his back pocket and he swallowed hard, remembering his furious vow to never again miss a call as he and Sam sat in the waiting room throughout the long afternoon. He checked the caller ID and immediately wiped his mouth on his sleeve and high-tailed it out of the room, heart doing some kind of fluttering thing despite the worry and fatigue still clouding his mind.

          “Hey, Cas.”

          “Dean.” Cas sighed heavily, sounding just as tired, but relieved. Dean closed his eyes and leaned back against the bland hospital wall. The effect of just that, Cas saying his name, was like a cool shot of something smooth and mellow, instantly relaxing him.

          “Dean, are you alright? You sound weary.”

           “Actually, we had some bad luck around here, buddy. Bobby had an accident. Car he was working on fell on him, the doctors think his legs might be paralyzed.”

           “That’s terrible news! I am so sorry, you all must be so worried. When did it happen?”

          “This morning. Luckily Sam found him and got help. He’s been in surgery most the day, but they think he’ll be alright, he’s due to wake up in a few hours. God, it’s good to hear from you, Cas, I’ve been missing you so much in all this.”

          “I would have called sooner, but we’ve been having troubles here as well.” Cas’ voice went soft and somehow Dean knew what he was about to tell him. “My father is dead.”

          “Cas…babe, I’m sorry. I’ve been there and I know, ain’t nothing that can take the hurt away when it’s fresh, but I wish I could be there anyway, wish I could try.”

          “I know you do. I want that too. But Dean,” Cas drew a deep, bracing breath. “The reason I called was to tell you what happened after. Father died late last night and his body was still warm in his bed when my siblings starting arguing and calling for his lawyers and will. He was still in the house, _dead_ , and everyone was fighting to discover whom he’d named successor to the printing business and it was just awful, realizing they’d never even _cared,_ but they got the will before morning and…it’s me. Dean, he left it all to me, the house and ownership of the entire corporation and everything. I’m in charge of it all.”

Dean felt his stomach dropping lower and lower with every word Cas said until eventually it seemed to settle somewhere below the floor.

          “Wow. Cas, that’s great. ‘Course it had to be you, the kid who actually gives a damn about things.” His voice sounded strangely hollow and pathetic. He cleared his throat and kept going, grasping carefully at the small hope that maybe this didn’t mean what he was afraid it did. “Guess you could probably take over Naomi’s place, give her a junky little apartment, when you come back.”

          “That’s what I’ve needed to tell you.” Cas was quiet for a minute. “Dean, I’m not coming back. I’ve got to stay here, to manage the printing press.”

          “You can’t.” Dean felt the panic rising, hope obliterated and half-hysterical with not wanting to believe Cas at all.

          “I have to. My family needs me, they’ll destroy each other if someone doesn’t step up to lead them.”

          “What, and now that has to be _you?_ How can you act like you owe them anything, Cas, they stood around being good little soldiers while your parents kept you hostage in your own house!”

          “They are still my family, Dean! And now they are counting on me. That is something I would expect you, of all people, to understand!”

Dean reeled back, stunned by the forcefulness and fury behind Cas’ shouting.

          “Okay, fine,” he ground out, throat tight with pain. “I get it. If you wanna stay there and play daddy’s little CEO, that’s your call. But don’t you ever think you have to do it because your family is more important than you giving up on your dreams, because your father wanted you to be that guy. Cus you’re worth a whole hell of a lot more, Cas, you taught me that. And if this is it for us, I wanna have the chance to tell you good-bye this time. So adios, buddy. I hope that you…well, you’d just better remember what I told you, is all.”

          “Yes, Dean,” Cas whispered faintly, his voice all misery and grief and unspilled, shaky tears.

Dean hung up then, unwilling to chance hearing anything else in Cas’ broken tone. There wasn’t anything left to say, anyway, and as far as he knew, anything left to feel. Cas was gone for good. His heart ached for a terrible, burning second, and then fell back into the pits of his stomach, resigned.

He walked slowly back into the room. Ellen and Jo were talking quietly while Sam dozed right there at the table, hair flopped over his face.

          “It’s late. You guys should get going,” he told Ellen, gathering up empty styrofoam containers. She squinted at him.

          “Are you feeling alright, Dean?”

          “I’m fine.” He knocked at Sam’s shoulder until he groaned and pulled himself upright. “Take him with you, I’ll stay the night.”

          “Dean, you’ve got to be just as fried as me, you don’t have to stay,” Sam grumbled and rubbed his face.

          “Look, I want to, okay?” Dean gestured around the room, some more of that icy panic creeping into him at the thought of having to fess up about what had just gone down, when something so stupid shouldn’t have even mattered on the day Bobby was almost lost to them all. “You guys go. Get some sleep.”

No one said anything else. Ellen and Jo paused to hug him, but he could barely even register the gesture as one meant to be comforting. Sam yawned and raised his arm in farewell as they all left together, leaving Dean to sit down quietly beside Bobby’s bed and bury his head in his hands, wondering if he’d ever have reason to move again.

 

          “Dean? Is that you, boy?”

Dean woke up from his trance-like dozing in a flash. He looked up from where he’d rested his head on the plastic hospital mattress, hardly daring to hope it was Bobby who’d spoken, but it couldn’t have been anyone else. Worn-out and frail, it was still him, still with the gruff, worldly tone so sure of itself.

          “Bobby. Damn, you don’t know how good it is to see you up.”

          “We in a hospital? What the hell’s going on?”

           “You had an accident. Bad one. Car fell on you and you fucked up your spine trying to get out. You’re mostly good, and we’re just glad you’re still here, but…” Dean sighed, wishing he hadn’t sent Sam away for this. “Your legs don’t work. They think they might again some day, but they ain’t too sure right now.”

Bobby closed his eyes and sank back as far as his bindings would allow, which wasn’t much.

           “Can’t feel ‘em.”

           “I know. They have some tests to run, now that you’re up, to find out if they’re gone for good. I can call the nurse-”

           “No, son.” Bobby swatted Dean’s hand away from the call button. “I don’t wanna know just yet. Now, that car…I was workin’ on some souped-up little Mustang, right?”

           “Yep.”

           “Bright green, ugly as sin?”

           “Yep.”

           “Knew that thing was trouble. Some dumb-ass kid brought it in; it was a birthday present, from his mom, for acing his classes. Tried to tell me to put it under Kevin Solo.” Bobby snorted, sounding a lot more like his usual self.

           “Well, anyway, you better let me finish it up. I’m, uh, gonna have a lot more free time to come around, help you out.” Dean tried to be light-hearted, upbeat, but the lump in his throat was back, threatening to choke him.

           “What, you already done going kissy-face with Ol’ Blue Eyes?”

           “Cas had a bunch of family stuff come up and went home. Bobby…he’s not coming back. He’s _gone.”_ Dean clenched his fists and exhaled painfully, dipping his head to hide the agony of having to talk about this. When he looked up, Bobby was glaring at him in irritation.

           “To where, Timbuktu?”

           “No, Santa Barbara.”

           “Dean, you listen to me: do _your_ legs work?”

           “Yes,” Dean answered guiltily, watching the sudden blaze lighting up Bobby’s white, weary face.

           “Then you take your ass and run go get him. I’ve been around a long time and I’m here to tell ya that hanging on to the person you love is something worth fighting for. Life’s short. Shit happens. But sittin’ here on my bed wallowing ‘cus you’ve got to work a little bit harder to keep Cas is a hot, steaming load of bull and you know it. _I’m_ the one should be boo-hooin’ right now! He’s the one, ain’t he? You wanna have him as long as you can?”

          “Yeah. God, yes,” Dean sighed, wondering, hoping, _praying_ things could be that simple. He wanted to keep going, wanted Bobby to reassure him, but at that moment, Sam and Jess burst into the room, laughing at something.

           “Bobby! You’re up!” Sam crowed, looking healthier and better rested than he had any right to on just few hours of sleep. Dean didn’t muse on it long, catching the way his brother kept glancing at Jess and her bright, easy smiles in return.

           “Feelin’ like I went ten rounds in the cage, but I’m up. And you brought Miss Moore with you too. ‘Fraid it’s gonna be a little longer on the truck.”

           “Nevermind that, I just wanted to make sure you were doing alright, Bobby. And to help keep you company a while, I had to bring Sam his work from Hendrickson anyway.” Jess caught Sam’s eye and winked, and it was such a natural, normal gesture, between two people who looked for all the world like they belonged together, that Dean’s heavy heart squeezed up like a tight, desperate, dying thing see it.

          “I’ll have the truck done this week. Might go by later today.”

          “Dean, forget about that, you should go home and rest a while. We’ll look after Bobby.” Sam was in such a great mood, he could have been talking about freakin’ Disneyland or something. Anything to get to spend time with Jess, Dean guessed. He stood and dug his hands into his pockets, feeling empty and unwanted.

          “Okay. Be back later, Bobby.”

          “You think on what I told you, got it?” Bobby said sternly, pushing himself as upright as he could manage. Sam shot him a quizzical look, but Dean just waved and walked away. They didn’t need to be worrying about him. He wandered outside and found Baby, gleaming just as proud and reliable as ever.

          “Just you and me now, beautiful. Let’s go home.”

 

Dean didn’t sleep so much as throw himself in bed for the rest of the morning, alternating between rolling around fruitlessly and staring at the ceiling. It was raining steadily, and he decided he hated the stupid sound, hated the raindrops lashing against the window, hated the dark grey light of the day. He buried himself beneath the fluffy, clean pillows and was glad they hadn’t been able to christen the new bed. He knew he wouldn’t be able to stand smelling Cas in the sheets.

After several useless hours, Dean had to admit defeat to the whole “rest” thing and pushed himself out of bed and into the hallway, where he paused for a long minute, feeling aimless.

The Winchester brothers never had any reason to go into John and Mary’s old room. Dean didn’t even bother to clean in there, so the dust on the furniture was thick, easily disturbed from where he dragged his fingers across the dresser, headboard, wedding quilt that had served as a comforter. He sat down heavily on what had been Mary’s side of the bed and looked around the musty room. It was properly decorated, whereas the rest of the house was not, with little knickknacks and pictures, mostly of the family and of the beach. Dean stared at the photo framed on Mary’s dresser, a shot of her kneeling with her sons around a sloppy sandcastle. Sam was still a baby in her arms, and Dean smiled involuntarily at her laughing face. He couldn’t remember himself from that day, as a fat, giggly toddler, but he supposed he must have been happy.

He drew his finger across the stitching on the quilt his parents’ friends had made them all those years ago, thinking about the love that made them decide to try for forever.

          “You left him, though. You left all of us.” His voice sounded loud in the empty room, over the rain.

          “I get it more now, at least a little bit. Why he did it. For a little while, I wanted to wreck the whole damn world, it felt like I was going crazy. I guess that’s how he felt when he lost you. I’d never do anything like that though, to anyone. To Sammy. Seems like I’ve been hurting enough for everybody anyway.”

Dean breathed a low, unsteady exhale.

          “I didn’t think anything could hurt so much as that day out in the water. But he ripped out everything when he left. I don’t care about anything now, and I don’t want to do anything either. He took all the light, all the joy and fun and, fuck, he actually _cared_ , you know? And now I’m just hollow inside. I think he took my whole damn heart. Bobby’s in the hospital and here I am dying inside ‘cus I’ve got nothing left.”

          “I just wish there was something I could do about all this. Bobby says to go get him, but there’s no way I’m showing up on his doorstep trying to take him away. He can have a good life there, probably’ll fix everything up right with his family and use what he’s got now to do some good. Or maybe just keep making money. Whatever. It doesn’t matter, he’s a good person, and Mom…you would have really liked him.”

Dean let the tears well up and drop silently into his lap, thankful there was no one there to see. A cool breeze swept through the room suddenly, almost as if on cue, and he looked around quickly, blinking away the bleary wetness. There was no one there, and even though he wasn’t too sure he believed in ghosts, Dean shuddered and stood. Just as he reached the hall and was turning to close up the room again, the doorbell sounded.

Baffled, he slogged down the stairs, wiping his face. No one in his and Sam’s little community even bothered to knock anymore, just barreled right in, and he doubted he had the strength to deal with strangers today. He sighed heavily and opened the door.

          “Hello, Dean.”

For a long time, Dean just stared. Briefly, he reconsidered his stance on ghosts, because it didn’t seem in any way possible that Cas could be back at his house, drenched with rain and radiating with purpose and intent.

          “May I come in?”

Dean stood aside, mouth agape, as Cas sloshed into the house.

He didn’t look great. He was drowning in a crumpled black suit, blue tie turned the wrong way, everything dripping, prompting Dean to stop staring and silently collect a towel (from the back of the closet, reasonably scratchy; he’d gotten behind on laundry again). Cas accepted it in equal silence, and dabbed at his face, hair, and neck before speaking.

          “I left home again.”

          “Yeah, I can see that.” Dean crossed his arms over his chest, preparing to accept whatever blow was coming. “But why’d you come here? Shouldn’t you be hard at work getting out prayer manuals, or whatever the hell it is you guys do?”

Cas shook his head slowly, eyes focused brightly on Dean.

         “I left. I gave it up. I never wanted any of that world, Dean, you know that.”

         “But what about your family?”

         “They’ll manage without me. I surrendered the company to Naomi; she deserves it and she’ll do a much better job anyway. I don’t even want the house.”

         “Wait, when you say _without_ you, you mean-”

          “Dean, it’s difficult to try to explain, but these past few days have been…excruciating for me. My father is dead, but all I’ve been able to think about is how much I’ve missed you.”

Dean let his arms drop, heart rustling a little from its pit, almost daring to hope.

          “Shit, I know, Cas. Bobby’s in the hospital and I’ve been going out my mind thinking about losing _you_. I thought you were gone for good.”

          "I thought I could still make one big attempt for my family, but you were right. Trying to be something I’m not for them wasn’t worth it. And the thought of being without you…” Cas stepped closer, just barely out of Dean’s reach. He closed his eyes for a beat and swallowed hard. “Dean, I couldn’t. I…I love you.”

Those blue, blue eyes were on him, hopeful and sincere and perfect, and Dean’s heart stopped entirely before restarting back in his chest. Actually, it seemed a little bit higher than before, and pounded hard, just as shocked and disbelieving as the rest of him.

          “Cas…”

His hands were on Cas’ wet hips, bringing him closer but cautiously, afraid somehow he was going to break something. Cas looked up at him, as open and warm as always.

          “Thank _God_. I mean, wow, me too, okay? Me too, Cas.”

Some small part of Dean screamed with shame that he couldn’t say it back, not right then, but that part was quickly drowned out by the overwhelming relief he felt rolling in as he pulled Cas against him and brought their lips together, in a kiss that was triumphant and huge and _awesome_. Cas felt it too. This was really happening. Cas had chosen _him_ , and the realization made him so outrageously, furiously happy that he had to pull away, laughing and hugging Cas tight.

          “How long?” He murmured over Cas’ shoulder, eyes shut against the sensation of having him back in his arms. “How long have you known?”

Cas laughed now, his warm breath coming out in a whoosh under Dean’s ear, and Dean could feel the smile he pressed there.

          “It’s embarrassing. You first.”

          “Since Sunday, when you were singing and I was watching you head out in the waves. It just hit me, how much I wanted to keep you around.”

Cas squirmed in his arms, from pleasure or apprehension Dean couldn’t be sure, so he drew them tighter together, shivering a little from Cas’ cold clothes.

          “C’mon, tell me.”

          “Since the day I first saw you, Dean Winchester. That’s when I knew.”

Dean rocked them together for a long minute, too awed to say a word. Finally, Cas gave a trembling, full-body shudder and he was forced to pull away, laughing again. He gestured at Cas, reaching for the towel.

          “What the hell happened to you, anyway?”

          “I ran out of gas. I drove Naomi’s car, but I was so excited to see you, I didn’t check the meter, and I didn’t think to call. It’s a mile or so down the road.”

          “We’ll take care of that later, you big dork.” Dean wiped gently at Cas’ throat, unconscious that he’d been pulling open the buttons at his dress shirt until he realized he was actually moving the soggy tie out of the way in order to see more of that beautiful tan skin. Cas’ hands were on his then, helping to remove it entirely, and he looked up at Dean heatedly.

          “Would this be an appropriate time for us to have sex?”

Dean cradled Cas’ face in his hands and pressed another kiss to his lips.

          _“Fuck,_ yes.”

Together, they crashed through the house into the bedroom, unwilling to let go for even a moment. Dean couldn’t believe how much he’d missed this, how good it was to feel all that muscle under his fingers again as he tore away sopping fabric to get at Cas, trying to keep their lips pressed tight against one another as he guided them onto the new bed they’d picked out together.

It came so much easier this time, getting naked and grabbing at each other on the soft blankets. Dean rubbed his hands firmly against all Cas’ chilled skin, needing him to be warm and comfortable until finally he covered his entire body with his own, kissing him deep into mattress. He mouthed at Cas’ neck, which was still cool and fresh with rainwater, loving the way Cas’ arms wound around his shoulders and back to pull him in closer. He reached down to feel for Cas’ rising cock, encouraging him to buck up into his hand with gentle swipes at the head and pleased grunts at the increasing heat there.

Cas hummed, letting one of his hands wander to join Dean’s for a few strokes, before suddenly pushing hard at Dean’s chest, forcing him upright.

Dean looked down in confusion, hovering, worried to touch Cas again for fear he’d done something wrong.

           “Babe?”

           “Sorry.” Cas’ voice was husky from kissing and arousal. It was beyond hot, and had Dean licking his lips in anticipation, but in no way prepared him for what was coming next. “I was afraid this was going to end too soon, when I was hoping for a lot…more.”

Cas sat up and looked at Dean shyly with a bashful smile on his swollen lips.

           “I want to experience something with you, Dean. Do you have any lubrication we could use?”

Dean wasn’t sure he was going to be able to answer, wasn’t sure there was a single drop of blood left in his head because it seemed to have all rushed south at Cas’ coy suggestion. He swallowed hard and just gave Cas a dumb, open-mouthed nod that had him beaming in return, before hopping off the bed to dig around in his dresser.

     In his eagerness, Dean threw himself back at Cas’ feet in a sprawling heap with the slightly sticky, half-full bottle of lube. Cas took the bottle himself and leaned back against the pillows with a soft sigh. He pulled his knees in and parted his legs, giving Dean a perfect view of his cock, balls, and the crease of his ass. Far up above, there came the snap of the bottle’s cap and an eager, gushing noise as Cas squeezed out what sounded like a generous amount of lube. One of his pretty hands drifted down into Dean’s view, grazing lightly at his own thigh, his fingertips wet and shiny.

     Dean held his breath as Cas lifted his ass and parted his cheeks with his clean hand, his first finger circling the tight, rosy bud just inches from Dean’s face. Cas moved with a careful, practiced touch, pressing in deeper until his finger started to slowly disappear and he gave a throaty groan, obviously enjoying the sensation.

     Dean himself hardly had time to adjust to the sight of the first finger, his mouth dry and his cock _throbbing_ from where he pushed his hips into the mattress in a rough,    desperate grind, before Cas had two fingers rubbing at his rim and being swallowed up in his hole. This time, he pressed harder, deeper, moaning so loud and obscene it had Dean’s face heating up just to hear him.

          “Where the _fuck_ you learn to do this, Cas?”

          “I told you, I missed you while I was away,” Cas ground out, twisting his fingers to hit a different angle. “At night, I thought of how good it was to feel your body on top of mine, wondered what it would be like to have you touch me here.”

          _“Damn.”_ Dean lifted his fist to his mouth and bit his knuckles, so overwhelmed with the thought that he was briefly afraid he might come right then and there. “This is what you did at your parents’ house, Cas? Laid up in your bedroom and fingered yourself thinking about me?”

          “We’re preparing to have intercourse in _your_ parents’ house,” Cas pointed out, showing a hell of a lot of coherency for someone fucking his hips up on his own fingers. He started to gasp and pant with the effort, his voice going shaky. “You know…I did…envision…this being a… mutual activity.”

      Dean snapped to attention as Cas’ hint sunk in. He quickly popped two of his own fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue to get them nice and wet, before bringing them to where Cas had dropped back to the mattress, moving in and out lazily now. Dean nudged at the stretch of Cas’ rim and Cas pulled out entirely, leaving Dean to ease his fingers into the welcoming heat. He went slow at first, afraid of hurting him, but Cas responded enthusiastically, rolling his hips into the motion, legs open wide, inviting Dean to continue.

      Emboldened, Dean raised himself up to his knees, gripped the outside of Cas’ left thigh with his free hand, and shoved his fingers up into Cas hard. Cas keened with delight, hands going up behind his head to clutch at the pillows, eyes squeezed shut, as Dean kept going, twiddling and scissoring his fingers, thumb rubbing gently at Cas’ rim. The slick passage softened as he worked, Cas accepting him more and more easily, clenching down to draw him even deeper.

           “Is that good, babe?” It was teasing, but Dean couldn’t help himself, was too wrapped up in Cas’ pretty flush and moans, in the sweat sticking his hair to his temples and the shivers wracking through him when Dean hit something especially nice. It was so damn good taking Cas apart in his hands and watching him get lost in what Dean was doing to him that he almost forget there was supposed to be a part two in all this, up until Cas gave a high, needy whine and reached down to stop his hand.

          “Enough, Dean. I need all of you, filling me up inside. _Right now.”_

    It was an order, delivered harshly with a narrow-eyed, lusty gaze, meant to be obeyed immediately, and Dean all but growled in response. Sweet, quiet, innocent Cas demanding his cock, fucked open on their fingers, was a sight he never could have cooked up in his filthiest dreams, but here he was, spreading his legs wider, grabbing at Dean’s hips, and trying to drag him back down. Dean covered Cas’ hands with his own for a few seconds and squeezed gently, suddenly struck with a better idea.

He let go and kneeled back, ass resting on his calves, cock jutting up from his lap.

         “C’mere, Cas.”

     Cas went, pushing himself upright and going right to straddle Dean, thighs on either side of his hips, raised above him slightly, as if they’d planned this out in advance. Dean groaned at his eagerness, pressing a kiss to the chest in front of him and sliding his hands over the curved hipbones he loved so much, impatient to put those muscular legs to good use.

      After claiming another brief, hungry kiss, Cas braced himself against the mattress on one arm and leaned all the way back to grab the bottle of lube, displaying his throat, chest, and abs in a long, graceful arc and _fuck_ , it didn’t seem quite fair that he would be flexible too. Cas righted himself, popped the top again, squirted out some lube and, without breaking eye contact, reached down to slick up Dean’s cock.

      Dean breathed sharply, doubting he could ever get over how much he liked having those strong hands stroking him, but all too soon, they were gone and Cas was still, looking at Dean with wide eyes and running his tongue over his lips nervously. He’d never done this before, Dean remembered, and the thought tempered the fire blazing in his belly into something more moderate, slow-burning. Able to take things down a few notches, even as his cock twitched and pulsed where it rubbed against the hot, soft skin of Cas’ inner thighs. He held Cas’ face in his hands like before, smiling with all the warmth he’d ever gotten from him, and been weirded out by and unsure what to do with.

 And then Cas smiled back, eye bright again with desire and kindness, and well, damn, something Dean knew now was freakin’ _love_.

      Together, they reached down behind Cas for Dean’s waiting cock, Cas raising himself up as high as he could, and guided the tip between his cheeks. As soon as Dean eased in the first inch, he clenched his jaw and groaned low, hands falling away to grasp at the blankets. Cas continued to slide down at an agonizingly slow speed, face tight with concentration but exhaling all the way to keep himself relaxed and open.

      Dean did his best not to move, to let Cas take him at his own pace, but _holyfuckingshithell_ , he was tight and hot and slick, and he couldn’t stop the tiny tremors breaking through his whole body with the effort of holding back. Cas’ fingernails dug into his shoulders as he finally bottomed out, fully seated on Dean. His face was flushed deeper than ever before and damp with perspiration, his own body shaking, but Dean rubbed little circles at the curve of his back, licked and sucked at his sweat-slick collarbone.

            “Cas, babe, you feel so damn good,” he moaned, wanting to encourage Cas to move and also wanting him to stay put forever, totally surrounding Dean with his scent and taste and that incredible warm tightness.

            “So do you.” Cas’ eyes were closed as he gave a few tiny movements up and down, voice so low Dean could just barely make out the words. He started to grow bold, bringing his hips up in smooth, purposeful arches, drawing his chest flush against Dean’s as he exposed more and more of him to the cooler air each time.

Cas’ cock rubbed hot between their bellies, nestled in the dip of Dean’s abs, and the slide of his head, pooling wetness, over Dean’s skin was just moving him that much closer to the edge. It was fucking mesmerizing, watching Cas try to shove them closer together to increase the pressure on his cock even as he brought himself down in harder bounces, thighs shaking.

           “Dean…” Cas sighed, managing to sound almost angelic even while riding a cock, and that was all Dean could take. Tightening his hold on Cas, fingers gripping his ass and spreading him open, Dean thrust up into his tight, sweet hole.

        Cas cried out brokenly from somewhere above Dean’s left ear, his whole body coming down and over and _on_ Dean, reckless in his desperation for more. The arms circling Dean’s neck and shoulders pulled him in closer, the cock against his stomach throbbed wetly, and the legs over his hips clenched. He set a quick, steady pace, ramming his pelvis up hard into Cas’ ass, thighs burning but unable to imagine doing anything to stop the stream of gasping moans and groaning, garbled versions of his name escaping Cas’ mouth.

       Every time Dean hit something Cas really liked, he sank his nails into Dean hard enough to draw blood and let his head fall back mindlessly, jaw slack, stomach jerking. Dean wanted to give him more of that, wanted Cas to feel what they were doing for _days,_ but he could sense his thrusts growing less coordinated, messier, as the heat boiling his gut prepared to pitch him over.

           “Getting…close, Cas,” he panted, slowing down to focus on going deeper, rutting far up into the hottest core of Cas.

           “Please, _please,_ Dean, don’t stop, just like that.” Cas’ eyes were wet with tears and kept falling shut as he let loose rough, involuntary exhales on every thrust and shuddered everywhere Dean touched him.

      Dean was about to apologize, for not being able to hang on any longer, when suddenly Cas’ body spasmed hard and he _screamed_ his release, every line going firm and tight, hips stuttering and inner muscles clenching, forcing out Dean’s orgasm too in a hot, flooding, blinding explosion. He couldn’t make a sound, couldn’t fucking breathe with the intensity of it all, and when he came back to himself, it was to find Cas slumped against him, gasping, their bellies wet and sticky.

      Gently as he could, softening cock still buried to the hilt inside Cas, Dean eased them back onto the blankets, resting his head on Cas’ chest for a few, blissed-out minutes. Cas’ heart went from thundering to pounding back down to calm, regular beats, and finally Dean sighed and lifted himself up and out of Cas, looking down to watch the gush of his own cum flowing out of his slick, swollen hole.

          “Enjoying your handiwork?” Cas had thrown his arm over his face as he rested, but his mouth was smirking, pink lips trying hard not to smile.

          “You’ve gotta take credit too, that was fucking unbelievable.” Dean huffed and smacked at Cas’ ass playfully. He wiped them off quickly with a corner of the sheet and collapsed, tangling their legs and fingers up together.

          “So,” he started in what he hoped could pass for a casual tone, stroking at Cas’ palm with his thumb. “Now what?”

          “Now we’re together again,” Cas smiled. “You guessed correctly, by the way, I did end up with Naomi’s house, in addition to being kept on a major stockholder. So it would appear that I can afford to do some good in the world after all, even from the comfort of a mansion. I’m thinking of opening a shelter for runaway teens. Kids whose parents have disowned them, or are fleeing abusive situations, pregnant girls, that kind of thing.”

He laughed suddenly.

           “It does almost seem like something Jesus would do. My family will hate it.”

           “Cas…you really want to go live in your aunt’s place?”

           “Well, no, not really. It’s much too big, for one thing, and so gaudy. I don’t know why she thought she needed that staircase.”

           “Right.” Dean licked his lips, feeling nervous over the thought that had come to mind, wondering if he dared.

           “Dean, what is it?”

           “I was just thinking. Maybe, if you wanted…” Dean took a deep breath and let the idea fly. “There’s no good reason to leave a freakin’ mansion to come live in a worn-down shack like this, but if you wanted to stay here, with me and Sam, well, you’re welcome to it. We don’t have much, and things’ll be tighter than ever with Sam in school all the time and Bobby the way he is, and I’m still pretty much a walking time-bomb with the nightmare thing and-”

          “DEAN. Of course I want to stay with you, yes!” Cas’ smile lit up his glowing face in a megawatt version of his usual model, pure and real, and it kind of made Dean’s whole, tattered heart hurt to see him so happy at the idea, but in the best possible way.

Outside, the rain was tapering off, and suddenly Dean felt like going out into the world, like taking on everything it had to offer and winning, now that Cas was going to be a part of it.

           “Wow. So that’s it then? I make room in the garage for the ugliest Jeep in the world and clean out some drawers, and then we get to surf and eat and sleep and live, together? We can just do this thing, you and me?”

He sat up and pushed the blankets to the side, little bolts of excitement starting to jolt through him. Cas followed, still smiling like he knew exactly what Dean was thinking, how he felt, and wanted nothing more than to ride this car over the cliff too.

           “I believe that’s how it works, yes.”

           “Well, awesome.” Dean laughed and jumped out of bed, pulling Cas to his (gratifyingly unsteady) feet. He gave him a quick kiss, looking deep into those blue eyes he’d never before realized reminded him exactly of the waves curling on a clear summer day. “C’mon, angel of Thursday. Let’s get started.”

 

**EPILOGUE**

**(Three and a half years later)**

 

Sam had to smile to himself, climbing out of the driver’s seat and balancing the casserole dish and basket of rolls on the roof before going around the other side to help Jess. It had been a while since he’d been able to call the old house with the white porch and two radically different cars parked side-by-side home, but it still felt like something to come back to, something stable and comfortable and entirely transformed from the wreck Dad had left. Especially at times like this.

Today though, the Jeep was missing, and Sam wondered at it, hoping Cas hadn’t gotten stuck working. He gave his all to that place; it didn’t seem fair that he’d have to give up Thanksgiving too.

           “What time is dinner, again?” Jess asked, one hand pushing at her back, arching out her belly, and the other taking down the basket. She waddled up the ramp without waiting for an answer, and it filled Sam with awe, as always, to see her so self-assured and calm throughout all this. He never thought _he’d_ be the panicky parent.

           “Around four, Trash Compactor, jeez. You’d think I never feed you.”

           “Eatin’ for two and all that, sugar. You know how it is.” She winked and walked right inside. “Ding dong, other Winchesters calling!”

Dean came out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dishtowel tucked into his belt and with a weirdly agitated glint in his eyes. Sam was torn between chalking it up to hosting dinner and mentioning it when his brother interrupted his thought process, speaking just a little too fast.

           “Guys, this turkey is gonna be freakin’ awesome, me and Cas _brined_ it, for three days. It’s a work of art, the Victoria’s Secret model of turkeys. I call her Adrianna.”

           “Where is Cas?” Jess set the rolls on the table already set with silverware and plates and patted her stomach. “He’s got to check up on his baby; he hasn’t texted me in, what, almost a day. He’s gonna have withdrawals.”

           “Went to pick up Bobby.”

           “Oh, good.” Sam put down the casserole and peeked in the oven for a look at what was an admittedly good-looking bird, juicy and brown all over. “Thought maybe he was at the shelter.”

           “Nah, he got that new girl to take over for the day, Hannah. I’m telling you, she’s bad news.”

           “She still flirting with Cas, huh?” Jess snorted and dropped slowly into one of the mismatched chairs around the table.

           “Like, right in front of me! Lady, you ain’t got a prayer.” Dean shook his head in revulsion as he started taking glasses down from the cupboard. Sam helped, noticing there actually seemed to be a full set of the heavy glassware, which was clean and embossed with an attractive, artsy pattern. It was such a small thing, but he smiled, struck by the purchase and proud of his brother.

           “How’d it go with Tessa this week?”

Dean just rolled his eyes, dealing out the glasses with a huff.

           “She wants me try regressing to a younger me, working through my friggin’ _emotions_ by reliving what I felt as a kid. Like I really wanna spend an hour a week rehashing the mental state of a screwed-up twelve-year-old stashing skin mags and comics under his bed.”

He sounded bored, indignant, resentful, with all the predictable statements that came standard in the Dean Winchester Arsenal of Coping Methods, but Sam didn’t have to say anything to counter it. No one did. The results of therapy spoke for themselves, in Dean’s better sleeping habits, his lack of outbursts and moody periods, and best of all, his three whole months without a flashback episode.

Sam caught Jess’ eye and she smiled back, as proud of Dean’s progress as if he had been her own brother. She hoisted herself up again with a grunt and took a second to catch her balance before shuffling out of the room as quick as she could manage these days.

          “Nature calls, no surprise there, be right back.”

Dean watched her leave, tapping his fingers on the counter anxiously. He beckoned Sam over with a hushed “c’mere,” and Sam sided up next to a trio of cooling pies he knew full well were too beautiful for his brother to have baked, starting to worry slightly at his restless state.

          “Dude.” Sam lifted an eyebrow. “You okay?”

          “What? Yeah, ‘course, fine, just glad we could be on our own for a sec so I could show you something.”

Dean dug into his pocket, fumbling a little, and retrieved a tiny black box, and immediately Sam felt his jaw drop as he recognized the source of Dean’s anxiety.

          _“Woah_. Dean, are you going to _propose?”_ He asked it in a whisper, already knowing the answer, but too stunned and excited to say anything else.

          “Yeah,” Dean breathed, opening the box to show the ring. It was silver and surprisingly pretty, with a delicate, swirling design of vines, flowers, and miniscule bees. It looked like something Sam could never, ever imagine his brother buying, and like something Cas would love, and he was as impressed by the thought as with the secret itself.

Dean snapped the box shut and tucked it away again, seeming even more nervous now.

          “Whattaya think, Sammy? You been with us from the start of this, think he’ll say yes?”

          “He’s got to, there’s no way he could say no, Dean.” Sam wanted him to feel reassured, and the reply came easy, without thinking. It was Dean who worked so hard at fixing himself, keeping their lives together through Bobby and school and getting the shelter up and running, but it was Cas who stuck by his side the whole way. Sam hadn’t always been there for his brother, and he’d eventually left him, but Cas had stayed, cooking and cleaning and driving and working til both of them landed somewhere they wanted to be in life. In the life they’d built up together.

The sink ran in the bathroom, snapping him back to the moment.

         “Don’t worry about it, just be honest and tell him what you really feel,” he added in a hurry. “And Dean? Congrats.”

         “Thanks.” Dean had a look like he was about to jump out of a plane when Jess came back to the kitchen, but luckily Charlie burst through the front door then, beaming with a bottle of red wine and distracting everyone enough that neither woman noticed Sam clapping Dean on the back and giving him an encouraging grin before jumping in to help keep the afternoon moving forward.

Cas showed up just after they’d gotten Adrianna out of the oven, carrying the homemade stuffing that Bobby continued to contribute every year (“It’s a cold day in hell when this chair stops me from getting you kids the real thing, none of that box crap”). Sam watched him give Dean an absentminded hello-kiss before going to check on his pies, and Dean’s subsequent flush, suddenly way too loud in greeting Bobby, turning his wheelchair a little too sharply (Bobby gazing up suspiciously at the unwanted help).

His brother never had been good at playing it cool, no matter what he said.

Ellen and Jo were a little late, arguing over whose fault it had been, and bearing too many mashed potatoes. Chairs scraped back, glasses clinked, and laughter broke spontaneously as they all sat down to eat. Sam took Jess’ hand and squeezed it once, happy that everyone else was happy and filled with expectation for what was coming after.

          “So anyway, Jess,” Ellen was saying, passing the potatoes around the table. “How’re you feeling about taking the bar in July now that it’s getting closer to the big day?”

          “Still good. Things will be a lot easier now that I have a volunteer to watch the baby, what was that again, Cas? Absolutely any time at all, ever, ever?” She grinned playfully at Cas, who smiled back over his turkey, truthful to the very end. Sam _knew,_ deep down, that no one could be more excited for the birth of their son than he and Jess, but Cas gave them an awfully good run for their money.

          “But yeah, I’m definitely looking forward to not ending next year as starving students. At least we don’t have to worry about Christmas; Sam and I get the best present of all.” Jess looked at him with the same spark of enthusiasm for life, for whatever was coming next, that had made him want to do this in the first place.

Everyone buzzed with agreement, Charlie rolling her eyes at the cheesiness of Jess’ declaration, but nodding just the same. The meal continued in the idle, broken conversation that came with being family and already knowing the mundane life details of one other. Sam stole glances at Dean often, curious as to how he was holding up and wanting to laugh every time he dropped his fork for no reason or looked around the room uneasily, as if planning an escape route. Cas finally seemed to notice, and frowned slightly. He kept reaching out hesitantly to the man beside him, about to touch Dean, then withdrawing like he couldn’t make up his mind. It was hugely entertaining to watch, and Sam wished he could whisper to Jess about the show she was missing, but he doubted he could trust her to stay quiet, and so he was forced to enjoy the secret in silence.

After dinner, there was a lull as everybody tried to force down just a little more of Cas’ amazing pie, sated and content with the world. Sam leaned back in his chair, stomach stretched tight, and looked over at Cas, who in turn was staring down at Dean’s full dessert plate. He let his chair fall down with a bang. There was no way Dean’s refusing Cas’ homemade pie could go unnoticed.

          “Dean? Are you feeling alright? I made the pecan just how you like it.”

Especially when Cas decided to comment on it.

Sam watched, fascinated, as Dean snapped to attention. His brother looked at Cas briefly, took a deep, grounding breath, and slowly started to stand. All eyes went to him immediately; the room fell silent. Jess shot Sam a questioning look and he could only smile in return, slinging an arm around the back of her chair to bring her a little closer.

          “Pie’s great, babe, always is, I just got something else on my mind right now.”

Dean was so not winning any points for smoothness, Sam mused, taking in his unnerved tone and the way he steadied himself against the table. Cas, for his part, just looked confused and worried.

          “It’s just that…Cas, we been together a long time. You didn’t run when you were supposed to, way back when you found out all about me and my crap, and the one time you did go, you came right back. You’re damn good to me, always, and maybe I don’t deserve that, but some days you make me feel like maybe it ain’t about deserving, just about appreciating what I’ve got, what _we’ve_ got together. You made me brave enough to quit making myself be a lifeguard, to quit feeling like I’ve got to save the whole damn world. You were there when I took over the shop, and when Sam left to shack up with Jess, even when you were busy trying to build up the shelter from nothing. You’re still here, and God knows I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

            Dean swallowed audibly and sank to the floor on one knee. Cas’ eyes went wide and he froze on his chair. Sam felt, rather than heard, Jess’ soft gasp. Dean pulled out the little black box and, snapping it open, offered it up.

            “Castiel Novak, s’far as I’m concerned, you’re already a Winchester. What do you say about making it official?”

     Sam held his breath. Dean remained on the floor, poised to explode with anxiety and hopefulness, still holding out the ring box with hands that were shaking slightly.

     Cas’ face crumpled in some strange mixture of frustration and distress, and Sam felt something in his full stomach drop. Cas was supposed to be joyfully accepting, not frowning at Dean like he’d just been told there weren’t enough beds in the shelter for the night.

            “Dean Winchester, how dare you?” Cas finally got out, sounding furious. “How _dare_ you choose the very night I picked to propose to _you,_ to ask me that?”

   Sam’s jaw fell as Cas left his seat to bend on one knee too, bringing out another tiny box which he opened under Dean’s astonished face.

            “You were gonna ask me? Here, tonight?” Dean took both boxes and dropped them to the floor in order to wrap Cas’ hands in his own. Cas nodded helplessly, smiling now. “So that means you do wanna marry me?”

    Cas laughed.

            “Yes!”

  The relief of the whole room came on suddenly and sweet as the new fiancés grabbed at each other and swayed in a long, full-body hug, still from their spot on the floor. Charlie and Jo started up the cheering and Ellen and Bobby applauded, beaming with pride and approval. Jess hiccupped, tears streaming down her cheeks, and turned to Sam.

          _“Assholes,”_ she cursed, grinning happily.

 

            No one seemed to want to go home after all the excitement. Eventually, the red wine was brought out and toasted with, but for the most part, everyone seemed fine with just lounging around the living room, savoring the blissful atmosphere.

    Bobby slapped the arm of his chair, raising his glass in the direction of the couch, where Cas lay cuddled up on Dean’s chest, both of them playing with their new rings.

            “Told you boys, didn’t I? That it’d be worth running after the one you love?”

            “Please, and who supported this relationship from the very start?” Charlie raised her hand from where she was spread out in front of the TV, recovering from trying to beat Dean in a pie-eating contest (with the asking out of the way, his appetite had returned with a vengeance).

  Sam scoffed from the other end of the couch, where he’d been rubbing Jess’ back.

            “Um, me? Who walked in on them naked on the day Cas came back?!”

            “Okay, but who offered up dating advice before they went out the very first time? Who took them to the Pride festival?”

            “I still don’t forgive you for that, I was scrubbing glitter out of my hair for two weeks,” Dean put in irritably.

            “Yeah, but who took you to stake out Cas’ house, so you could make that cool, John Hughes entrance with the Impala?”

            “Wait, what?” Cas sat up, looking to Dean for an explanation, only to receive a guilty expression followed by what Dean clearly thought was a cute smile.

            “And whose restaurant did they meet at?” Ellen asked, crossing her arms over her chest smugly.

            “And who served them their first meal together?” Jo crowed, throwing the pillow she’d been sitting on at the couch.

   Dean batted it away and waved his arm lazily to shut everybody up.

            “Fine, I think we all can agree it was a group effort. Now we can focus on the _really_ important shit, like what you’re all gonna buy us for our wedding.”

            There was a collective groan as Dean started naming off possibilities like matching surfboards and old vinyl while Cas chimed in with practical suggestions like a new crock pot, but Sam smiled to himself again, wrapping his arms around Jess and the baby. He rested his chin over her shoulder and sighed, soaking up the warmth and love radiating from the small room.

            His brother wasn’t cured, he knew. Sam had been woken up much too often by Dean’s screams in the night to believe he’d ever be fully over the events that had ripped holes in his life. But now, he was actually happy. He had someone to love and be loved by, a job he excelled at, a community supporting him, and, hell, yes, he even had matching dishware in the clean kitchen where he prepared Thanksgiving dinner for his family. He was surfing again, the way he had before the accident: joyfully, fearlessly, as often as he could, sometimes with Cas and sometimes alone, always ready to take on the waves.

            Sam held Jess a little tighter, accepted the kiss she pressed against his cheek. He glanced at Dean and Cas again, snuggled back against the couch, caught Dean’s eye and the somewhat bewildered ‘Wouldya look at us, Sammy’ look his brother was giving him more and more often these days. Dean looked down at the man in his arms, then back to Sam, and grinned like he couldn’t believe the moment was real.

            Dean wasn’t free from all the things that kept him up at night. But seeing him now, like this, it seemed like he was closer than he’d ever been, and still climbing. It was enough for right now, Sam realized. It was enough that they'd all made it to here. He couldn't wait to see where the journey took them next.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [More Lovely and More Temperate](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5292575) by [angsteater](https://archiveofourown.org/users/angsteater/pseuds/angsteater)




End file.
